Many Happy Returns

Well, I don’t have much to update about last night. I did see JetBlue, along with a bunch of other committee people. I have hardly seen her lately and it was nice to catch up–especially since she was 1) in pleasant conversation mode (which is all too rare); and 2) looking really cute (which isn’t always the case). But, really, no fascinating stories to tell. Then I made a semi-triumphant return to the bar up the hill. The Jilted One was bartending and gave me a big greeting. And, as I had hoped, there was a two for one special on the beers, if you know what I mean. She also told me the story of losing her other bartending job, in classic The Jilted One fashion–talking really quickly and then not stopping the story when she walked away to serve another customer. Yeah, just like the good ol’ days.

But, all in all, an uneventful night–oh shit, I almost forgot–earlier in the evening I was hanging with the kids at their house. I hear the cat make a strange meochy sound as she came up the basement stairs. So, I say to her: “What’s wrong, S.?” And, holy shite, she drops a baby mouse on the floor. That was quite the shocker, to say the least. Followed by the second shock of watching the little mofo scamper under the table. The cat followed it, content to give the little thing a couple of half-hearted swats. So, anyway, once I got over that momentary “live wild animal inside the house” shock (please note: I still suffer from PTSD related to a “live squirrel in the house” incident some years ago) I decided to try to save the cute little baby mouse. Luckily this part of the story has no drama to it. I put on a glov, carefully picked him up and put him safely outside.

It was a few minutes before it sunk in for me that I pretty much sent him to a different doom–can a young mouse care for himself outside? i don’t know. Does he know the way back into the house? Eh, don’t know. Why is that owl smirking? What stray cats will run into him? Will they show him the way home?

Oh well.

Not much else to say except that the current chapter of my life has a working title: “My Guardian Angel Carries an Icepick”

Catchy, isn’t it?


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