A Prize, and a Surprise
My half of the winner's pot from the football pool is $65. I guess there are fewer people in the pool this year than last season. I think that does allow me to get that manicure Amy G. suggested, as well as the upgraded catnip suggested by Mr. Bingley. I have enough to get several catnip toys, and I think that keeping my parents' four cats occupied would make my dad very happy.
Sidebar: Did I ever explain that my parents are NOT weirdo cat-collectors? I don't think so.
Cat #1: Age 17. (Older than my parents in human years, according to this chart.) Was adopted at age 4 by my mom for my great-aunt who lived alone. They had an awesome companionship right up until my great-aunt's death in '99. My parents took in the cat and she is basically in love with my dad.
Cat #2: Age 12. Was adopted unofficially by my sister and officially by me. My sister spotted her at a weekend adoption event at the mall, but had to go back to college. I worked next door to the SPCA and rescued her from the brink of death. As the result of kennel cough, I mean. Still a very spunky kitty and ignores everyone else when my sister comes home to this day.
Cat #3: Age 11? Vet's best estimate. He showed up crying in my parents' backyard one summer, and they fed him all the way through the winter. Even dug a path in the snow for him. Spring came, he brought around a girlfriend who had two kittens. Got him fixed, released him. He got in a fight, and my parents decided to fix him up and keep him in. He's obsessed with my mom.
Cat #4: Age 9. The survivor of the aforementioned litter. Like his mom, he was afraid of people, and when my parents caught him and the mom and got them fixed, the mom abandoned him. He would sneak onto the porch to eat, but after awhile he got sick, so my parents caught him, took him to the vet, and reunited him with his dad indoors. He went from a tiny grey ball of fluff to a 16 pound wolf cub. He's huge but rather deficient when it comes to knowing how to be a cat. We call him "special."
See? My parents aren't crazy. They're just very hospitable.
If you're still with me after all that catblogging--here's the surprise part. The football pool's administrator sent out the e-mail announcement of the winners for the week. My name's in there, along with the other winner's. Yippee.
But right above that message in my in-box, there's a response e-mail from a former co-worker previously referred to on this blog as El Slackerino. My last "meaningful" (telling, I should say) exchange with him was reported here, and I have not heard from or spoken to him since I left my corporate job last year. Seeing his e-mail address made me shudder.
Do I really want to open that e-mail from him?
I'll let you decide! Vote in the poll at right. Discuss in the combox below. Or share thoughts about cats.
As a Libra, I'm all about giving my readers choices. Especially when it comes to helping me decide something!
Sidebar: Did I ever explain that my parents are NOT weirdo cat-collectors? I don't think so.
Cat #1: Age 17. (Older than my parents in human years, according to this chart.) Was adopted at age 4 by my mom for my great-aunt who lived alone. They had an awesome companionship right up until my great-aunt's death in '99. My parents took in the cat and she is basically in love with my dad.
Cat #2: Age 12. Was adopted unofficially by my sister and officially by me. My sister spotted her at a weekend adoption event at the mall, but had to go back to college. I worked next door to the SPCA and rescued her from the brink of death. As the result of kennel cough, I mean. Still a very spunky kitty and ignores everyone else when my sister comes home to this day.
Cat #3: Age 11? Vet's best estimate. He showed up crying in my parents' backyard one summer, and they fed him all the way through the winter. Even dug a path in the snow for him. Spring came, he brought around a girlfriend who had two kittens. Got him fixed, released him. He got in a fight, and my parents decided to fix him up and keep him in. He's obsessed with my mom.
Cat #4: Age 9. The survivor of the aforementioned litter. Like his mom, he was afraid of people, and when my parents caught him and the mom and got them fixed, the mom abandoned him. He would sneak onto the porch to eat, but after awhile he got sick, so my parents caught him, took him to the vet, and reunited him with his dad indoors. He went from a tiny grey ball of fluff to a 16 pound wolf cub. He's huge but rather deficient when it comes to knowing how to be a cat. We call him "special."
See? My parents aren't crazy. They're just very hospitable.
If you're still with me after all that catblogging--here's the surprise part. The football pool's administrator sent out the e-mail announcement of the winners for the week. My name's in there, along with the other winner's. Yippee.
But right above that message in my in-box, there's a response e-mail from a former co-worker previously referred to on this blog as El Slackerino. My last "meaningful" (telling, I should say) exchange with him was reported here, and I have not heard from or spoken to him since I left my corporate job last year. Seeing his e-mail address made me shudder.
Do I really want to open that e-mail from him?
I'll let you decide! Vote in the poll at right. Discuss in the combox below. Or share thoughts about cats.
As a Libra, I'm all about giving my readers choices. Especially when it comes to helping me decide something!
Comments
Cullen--you're in it for the laughs, too, aren't ya?
Amy--nah, his wife's still in the football pool. And my e-mail shows up with everybody else's on the mass e-mails (I know, why the pool administrator can't bcc, I have no idea), which is how he got the great idea to respond. I am convinced he has no impulse control whatsoever!