Wednesday, Dec. 19, 2007
Dear Diary:

The older I get the more it seems to me that the line between charmingly eccentric and batsh*t crazy is, oh, say, about 3.25 microns thick.

For years now I have described myself as a crazy cat lady, but I've done it in a self-deprecating manner, secure in the knowledge that I'm not really *crazy*, just charmingly eccentric about my cats.

Or so I thought.

And then today I looked down at a small plate of snow on my porch and I realized that I have most definitely crossed that 3.25 micron gap and somehow entered the world of batsh*t crazy.

Fortunately, I'm not violent or a danger to myself or others.

For now I'll hold on to that.

So what makes a small plate of snow proof positive of teh kuh-RAZY? Uh, well, here's the deal.

Ever since we got Binky, he's loved to race outside and play in the snow. If the spousal unit is outside shovelling paths, the two of them will play all sorts of snow dodging games. Somehow, Binky developed a taste for snow. He's the only cat we've owned who will hunker down and *eat* snow, and I do mean EAT.

The cat doesn't take a few dainty nibbles. The cat chows down on the flaky white stuff, sometimes for minutes at a time. If the spousal unit and I come in the house and our boots are covered with snow, Binky will race from wherever he is in the house and start eating the snow on our boots.

This has struck me as somewhat unsanitary, and so a few days ago I got a small plate, set it by where we come in. Now, as I walk up the path to the house I bend down, scoop up a handful of fresh snow for Binky. Before I even get my coat off, I make sure to give Mr. Evil his fresh snow.

Do I get any gratitude for this little act of generosity? Oh, puh-LEESE. This is a cat. He totally blows me off and buries his face in his snow. The only time he acknowledges me comes when I forget to bring in snow. Then, THEN, I get lots of attention, but it's of the "Oh, man, you are *such* a disappointment as a human being" attention.

Providing a cat with a safe home, food, medical care, attention? Normal. Upping the number to three cats? On the eccentric side of normal, but teetering dangerously close to crazy cat person.

Setting up a plate and bringing in fresh snow for a tiny gray cat?


The alarming thing about this? I'm only in my mid-50's. It's a well known fact that as folks age, they only get more crazy eccentric. The average Canadian woman of my generation can expect to make it to 83, which means I have another 27 years or so to get even more weird, uh, *charmingly* eccentric.

Even I'm afraid.

Very afraid.


Mileage on the Marnometer: 452.34 milesTen percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Half way there

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Goal for 2007: 500 miles

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