After a Moment: Back to Your Regularly Scheduled Programming

Right: Kitten in the left hand, skinning knife in the right ...

I posted this to be read after the post entitled "Moments". Because when the truth strikes close to home, I sometimes need to make a joke of it.

In other news, my home has been invaded by Raincoaster. I wouldn't mind, but the seaweedy smell she trails in her wake makes it difficult to enjoy a beer.

By means of diverse incantations (Mostly "Cold gin!" and "Want the bottle girl? Want the bottle? Okay girl, go on--geddit!") I managed to command the creature to fling herself upon the waters so the slime would wash off. Clearly this was ill-considered. I apologize to the ducks, and indeed to the Exxon corporation for what subsequently happened to their chemical plant, but the flames were quite pretty for a while and I feel that should be taken into consideration.

However, one intake-pipe cutting-open later, the desired effect was mostly acheived, although the critter did follow me home. Under instructions from Mme (who is deluded about the affection and loyalty of cats, so why should I expect her to understand the need for a firm hand when dealing with Raincoasters?) permitted it to burrow into the hot tub for a while to fortify self from the frigid thirty-five-degrees-celsius (one hundred or so in Heights of Faren) night. Because after all, if you don't keep 'em good and wet they get cold.

My friend, Avid Fan, and occasional commentator here at Metroblog, whom I shall refer to as High Paisley is also here, having arrived with the loftiest of aims, and I quote:

"To drink to excess."

End quote.

Since we here at the ol' Metroblog are all about helping people acheive their aims, particularly when vice and excess of any sort are involved, we have generously agreed to provide a certain amount of both booze and bail money. Of course, since it's unfair and foul manners to let one's guests drink one's cellar dry and not partake oneself, Mme and I were perforced to partake. The combination is having a lethal effect on local supplies of booze.

Alas, we all have our bears to cross.