Lizard Lovin'
...
I probably should learn to write my unhappy blog posts, and then delete them. Or not. I think that exorcising one's demons is a good way to deal with them. I would rather face the darkness head-on, rather than let if gnaw away at my insides.
Despite the fact that I have my third spring cold of the season (what's up with that?), I'm feeling much better.
I'm back to my usual tricks of laying in the dirt during my lunch hour and harassing my local lizard population. It seems to be mating season, because our resident male, who I've named Tip for his missing tail-end, is very busily demonstrating his splendid manliness. Don't all the ladies swoon for a man who can turn his neck-skin blue, whilst doing rapid push-ups? I certainly can't get enough of this sort of display.
Doesn't Tip look like he is posing for a formal portrait? I should note that it isn't my practice to name wild animals. This male lizard is named Tip, and all the females are called Tipitina.
All of them.
I tried not to name the numerous barn cats when I lived on the farmhouse and worked at the Glimmerglass Opera. I knew that if the cats got names, then I would get overly attached to them and end up sweet talking Robb into adopting three dozen semi-feral pussycats.
Of course, I wasn't very good at keeping these sorts of promises. I "somehow" learned the names that the farmers gave the cats, or assigned descriptive monikers (not "names") to certain cats. So, there was Fathead (the sweetest little cat imaginable), which Matthew named to annoy his sister. Spaz, who completely lived up to her name, and who I didn't name. The Fun Cat. Grey Momma. Eyeball Kitty. Tumor Kitty. Stumpy Rumpy. And Linguine, who now lives with us, and whose name means "little tongues."
And while we're playing with words, I have two for you.
Squirrels
...and...
Nuts.
I probably should learn to write my unhappy blog posts, and then delete them. Or not. I think that exorcising one's demons is a good way to deal with them. I would rather face the darkness head-on, rather than let if gnaw away at my insides.
Despite the fact that I have my third spring cold of the season (what's up with that?), I'm feeling much better.
I'm back to my usual tricks of laying in the dirt during my lunch hour and harassing my local lizard population. It seems to be mating season, because our resident male, who I've named Tip for his missing tail-end, is very busily demonstrating his splendid manliness. Don't all the ladies swoon for a man who can turn his neck-skin blue, whilst doing rapid push-ups? I certainly can't get enough of this sort of display.
Doesn't Tip look like he is posing for a formal portrait? I should note that it isn't my practice to name wild animals. This male lizard is named Tip, and all the females are called Tipitina.
All of them.
I tried not to name the numerous barn cats when I lived on the farmhouse and worked at the Glimmerglass Opera. I knew that if the cats got names, then I would get overly attached to them and end up sweet talking Robb into adopting three dozen semi-feral pussycats.
Of course, I wasn't very good at keeping these sorts of promises. I "somehow" learned the names that the farmers gave the cats, or assigned descriptive monikers (not "names") to certain cats. So, there was Fathead (the sweetest little cat imaginable), which Matthew named to annoy his sister. Spaz, who completely lived up to her name, and who I didn't name. The Fun Cat. Grey Momma. Eyeball Kitty. Tumor Kitty. Stumpy Rumpy. And Linguine, who now lives with us, and whose name means "little tongues."
And while we're playing with words, I have two for you.
Squirrels
...and...
Nuts.
Comments
These photos (as usual) are beautiful!
Fluffy Cow
But her purrs make up for it!
Annalisa
PS- My cat would love a lizard, blue belly or not!
I am a stranger, a friend pointed me in the direction of your site, but I am amazed by both of your stories, wishing you both the best and rooting really hard in your favor. In fact, I renamed my blog after Robb's friend's letter - Everything will be OK in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end. That was a great piece of inspiration.
Deleting the bad posts will just make it seem like the road was easy, and the next time you come to a fork or a bump you may forget that you have already been there before. A friend once told me, "At times like these, it is helpful to remember that there are times like these." I forget who said it originally...
Signed
A stranger who cares about your well being. Shocking, isn't it?
Hope you're feeling better very soon.
Knit Wit
Later a little green anole, probably someone's escaped pet, was living on the stairs of our apartment. I named him Fruity.
And then there is the single ant that always seems to be on our bathroom sink-- while it is probably never the same ant, I always call it Ira.