The honeymoon, while not over, is on hiatus. At around 4:30 am, Afsoun decided that she was going to test her new found sovereignty over the realm of my little apartment when she decided that it was an appropriate time to go a-strolling 'round the neighborhood. To do this, of course, she needed the door opened. Easily accomplished, to her way of thinking: just warm up the vocal chords and start meowing. Loudly. I figure something is wrong, and get up saying, "What is it, honey??" She shows her approval by doing the arch-backed, purring, leg weave thing and leads me to the front door where she looks up at me and YOWLS. Now mind you, I was raised by Siamese cats (Just ask
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ladyinthecanoe, when you are raised in the same house as Siamese cats, you are not raised WITH them, so much as BY them). So even a full-forced Persian meow is dainty to my callused ears. Five minutes of a Siamese meowing can wake you from a coma. Ten minutes will put you in one. I have been in and out of cat-voice-induced comas so much in my life that I feel like a shelf of Robin Cook novels.
So the response she got? I looked down at her, smiled sleepily and said, "Sorry, Afsoun, you are
not going out" and went back to bed. She cried for a bit more and then went back under the bed, where she is still sulking. I am being punished, I know; but seriously, she JUST got here, is matted and declawed. She is not going to be going out on my busy street.
In other news, I went dancing last night. A block away, Daisy's alternator went out. I think it was the alternator, anyway; it was too dark to really see much in the engine. The way she died, it could have been that the distributor cap ground wire shook loose. She was fine, she was fine, she was dead. Turn the key and NOTHING happens. The headlights still work, but the dash, radio, ignition, nothing else. I left her parked downtown. Later this afternoon, B, my dance partner will meet me and we will use his AAA to have her towed back here. Hopefully, I will be able to fix her next weekend if I can afford whatever parts are needed.
In still other news, on Friday at school, I was given a copy of Barbara Kingsolver's first novel,
The Bean Trees. I just finished it.. WOW... Really, really good. The language is incredibly rich in a fun, amusement park way: certain sentences and pieces of diaglog left me giggling with that fun tickle-dropping like feeling low in my center. She is a master of idiom. I highly recommend it.
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