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Mouse Guts inter alia
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Artemis, a.k.a. Misty, a.k.a. The Mystified One, a.k.a. Myterious, has caught 3 mice in 36 hours. She is now luxuriating is a gorged sleep, right here by my knee. The first mouse she ate, leaving only the head and tail. The second mouse provided her with choice tidbits, leaving blood and guts, head and tail on my white carpet. (Yes, I know. I was out of my mind to install white carpet.) The third mouse was running around the bathroom, very much alive and squeaking at 5 a.m. this morning, followed by Misty, followed by Callie, followed by Jasmine, followed by me (wearing gloves and not much more). Mouse disposed of, I tried to go back to sleep but the damn birds are too effing cheerful at sunrise.

After a cup of strong coffee my mood lightened up and I went a-gardening. Tomatoes are leaping up to the sunlight (and talking to them is NOT harrassment, I'll have you know). The beans are doing well. The zucchini is sitting there, atop its mound, looking astonished. The potatoes are sprouted. Which brings a question to mind: how the heck do you know when potatoes are done? Not cooked; grown. If they engorge under the soil, how do you tell without digging them up that they are ready to be harvested? I'm only growing 3 potato plants as an experiment and I'd hate to destroy one of them, only to find out that it wasn't mature yet.

Finished Justinian by H.N. Turtletaub. That emperor was stone ass crazy. The end was difficult to read, but I couldn't stop until I had finished. In the end he was the Deity and everyone sinned against him. Turtletaub did a wonderful job when he made the vocabulary and sentence structure reflect Justinian's state of mind. I don't think I will read it again and I'll want to be sure anyone I give it to has a strong stomach (or a lack of imagination). It was doubly upsetting because I have had close personal experience with someone who was psychotic. (Dead now and at peace at last.) I know the cost of remaining loyal to that person to the bitter end.

I received Fourth Procedure by Stanley Pottinger from my friend in Louisiana and I'm dying to read it (pun intended). Now that taxes are done, bills are paid, et cetera ad nauseum, I should have time to start on it.

The contractor tore down the termite-riddled patio cover yesterday while I was at work. Now I wait until he rebuilds it. I hope soon, since without the cover the sunlight just blasts in the sliding glass doors and the living room turns into a hothouse. I have thought of building a hothouse for my tomatoes (I have a tomato fixation), but doing it in my living room was not my intention.

And last item of note: I was very active in the women's liberation movement back in the day. For a long while, it seemed that I was the only one in my immediate circle of friends and coworkers who remembers that women abroad are still treated as chattel, and that women at home still work and live with subtle, but effective discrimination. I have found a friend who is activist in these areas and I am greatly heartened. Sisterhood is powerful. When women are empowered, men are loosed from their chains, as well.

Yeah, I'm an old time revivalist social revolutionary. Deal with it.

Time for another cup of coffee.

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