I’m actually getting used to this new template. Now I’m not sure if it’s ugly or not.
Miss Snark is inching toward my number on the Happy Hooker Crapometer. It should be up either today or tomorrow, if she keeps up at this pace. I’m back to being nervous again, as you can probably tell. Well, I was nervous, but then the cat almost killed me. After that, I decided to exchange my anxiety for gratitude–gratitude that I’m freakin’ alive.
How did the cat almost kill me, you ask? Well, normally he confines his assassination attempts to the stairs, trying to attack my ankles as I ascend or, worse, descend. Today, he got all crafty.
I was in the basement, faithfully editing away at the WIP (60 pages to go! w00t!). I had my headphones on and the music cranked up, as usual, so I didn’t hear Mr. Psycho Kitty creep from the stairs to the beam that crosses the center of the basement. Which, of course, is directly above the table where I sat.
As I’m reattaching a split infinitive, something big, long, and heavy falls onto my shoulder. I screamed, then looked up to see how the &$%@ something fell from the ceiling onto my head. Our house is old, yes, but no so old that parts of it should be falling on me.
What do I see but the cat, looking down at me all innocent-like. “What?” his eyes seemed to say. “Wasn’t me.”
What fell on me? I’m really not sure. It was long, black, hard plastic….and it came within two inches of my skull. If it had hit my head, it might not have given me a concussion, but it definitely would’ve hurt. My shoulder is fine thanks to my thick, cushiony, fleecy pink robe.
So I’m not talking to the cat today. He gets the silent treatment until he purr-ily apologizes for such a rude attempt on my life. As far as my Crapometer-related anxiety goes, well…I’ll just talk to myself about it.