The other day, I was walking to my scooter from Kit's house, and noticed a dirty tablespoon - the piece of table flatware kind - in the gutter. Two days later, walking across the street from my apartment to drop off a rent check, I noticed a dirty teaspoon - another piece of table flatware - in the gutter. Two totally different sizes, patterns and functions.
A few days later, I was riding the train to work, when the girl in front of me said to the girl sitting beside her, "Hey, look. It's a coyote," as she pointed out the window at them.
A few seconds later, she said, "Hey, it's the other coyote," repeating the gesture.
And damned if there weren't two coyotes wandering around, nosing the ground.
I have heard tales of cemetery coyotes for years, but have never seen one. 'One approached me when I was walking my dog past the cemetery, and growled at us.' 'My dog and I were playing, and a coyote came up and tried to play with my dog.' 'My neighbor saw a coyote rustling through garbage on that path behind the cemetery.' 'A coyote ate my baby.' Whatever.
For some reason, I always pictured a coyote hiding out at Wunder Cemetery, but I very clearly saw both of them in the Irving Park Cemetery across the street. And I never thought there would be more than one.
Two days ago, I rolled 2000 miles on my scooter. I was expecting this to occur as I crossed Irving Park on Broadway, but it didn't happen until I crossed Belle Plaine, a few streets up.
Last night, I bought two laser pointers - one for Schnarf and one for Cricket. I was only going to get the one for Kit's cat, but they were like $4, shaped like mice, and came in metallic-looking pink plastic. Also, I'd seen how much Schnarf enjoyed the one Kit had before it disappeared, and figured maybe it would get Cricket off my back for a while.
Cricket is roughly ten years of age. She's never seen a laser pointer before last night. She loves to chase things, as most cats do.
Now imagine that you've been deprived of the most amazing thing ever that meets all your needs and requirements for entertainment that you didn't even know existed, for TEN years. Now imagine all that potential energy manifested in the shape of seven pounds of grumpy, bony-butted, whiny cat, spontaneously bursting into kinetic energy expenditure.
The fact that I didn't have to scrape her off the ceiling amazed me.
A few days later, I was riding the train to work, when the girl in front of me said to the girl sitting beside her, "Hey, look. It's a coyote," as she pointed out the window at them.
A few seconds later, she said, "Hey, it's the other coyote," repeating the gesture.
And damned if there weren't two coyotes wandering around, nosing the ground.
I have heard tales of cemetery coyotes for years, but have never seen one. 'One approached me when I was walking my dog past the cemetery, and growled at us.' 'My dog and I were playing, and a coyote came up and tried to play with my dog.' 'My neighbor saw a coyote rustling through garbage on that path behind the cemetery.' 'A coyote ate my baby.' Whatever.
For some reason, I always pictured a coyote hiding out at Wunder Cemetery, but I very clearly saw both of them in the Irving Park Cemetery across the street. And I never thought there would be more than one.
Two days ago, I rolled 2000 miles on my scooter. I was expecting this to occur as I crossed Irving Park on Broadway, but it didn't happen until I crossed Belle Plaine, a few streets up.
Last night, I bought two laser pointers - one for Schnarf and one for Cricket. I was only going to get the one for Kit's cat, but they were like $4, shaped like mice, and came in metallic-looking pink plastic. Also, I'd seen how much Schnarf enjoyed the one Kit had before it disappeared, and figured maybe it would get Cricket off my back for a while.
Cricket is roughly ten years of age. She's never seen a laser pointer before last night. She loves to chase things, as most cats do.
Now imagine that you've been deprived of the most amazing thing ever that meets all your needs and requirements for entertainment that you didn't even know existed, for TEN years. Now imagine all that potential energy manifested in the shape of seven pounds of grumpy, bony-butted, whiny cat, spontaneously bursting into kinetic energy expenditure.
The fact that I didn't have to scrape her off the ceiling amazed me.
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