Cat Scene Investigation is a popular game in our household, even though Brian and I are unwilling participants. The rules are simple: the cats do something, and we have to figure out whose it is, what it is, and/or where it occurred.

Whose Puke Is It is easy to solve. The puke belongs to whoever isn’t sniffing or eating it. Sometimes, the perpetrator gives him/herself away by trying to bury the evidence.

What Is It goes hand in hand with Whose Puke Is It. It’s important to know what your cats are coughing up as an indication of their health. Most of the time it’s only a hairball or scarf and barf (from eating kibbles too fast).

Where Is It is like this: when Brian and I are still asleep and the cats want their breakfast, Hopper or Basil will deliberately start coughing in an effort to make us get up. On occasion, they cough up for real — the splatter against a wood floor seems to echo in the early morning hours. Then, it’s time to look for the evidence and hope you don’t step in it.

An even worse variation of Where Is It is when Hopper shits out of the box. Trace evidence is easiest to find when it’s still fresh because the odor hits you so hard it’s like walking into a wall. However, there have been times when the crime was perpetrated long before it was detected and the only lead you have is a faint odor coming from…somewhere, and not from the location of the litter boxes. This is the worst. One time, I could smell the scent all day, but no matter how hard or where I looked, I couldn’t find it. You can read the case file here. Since Hopper is the only one who does that, at least we’re spared from having to play Whose Poop Is It.

The evidence never lies.

i was all dressed and ready to go, even had my shoes on and everything. then the anxiety kicked in, i started feeling nauseous, and got the dry heaves. instead of asking Brian to call them to say i couldn’t make it, i fought that part of my anxiety and called them myself. too bad the line was busy both times i called. by then all i wanted was to take a nap (it was 3pm and i hadn’t fallen asleep yet, which was a surprise), so i did. Brian eventually got through to them, but we were unable to get an appointment for another month. meh.

months ago i began entering my Star Wars books into LibraryThing, which i thought was a great place to keep track of my Star Wars library. (read my post on LibraryThing here.)

Listal is even better. it allows you to catalog your music, DVDs, and games–not just your books. further, a free account doesn’t limit you to entering only 200 books (if you want to enter more than 200 in LibraryThing you have to pay $10/year or $25 for a lifetime membership).

other features include:

• the ability to track which of your items you’ve loaned out
• customized lists in which you can group items
• books that are read or unread
• items what you want

you can also join discussion groups for people with similar interests. i’ve created a group called Star Wars – Expanded Universe. so sign up (did i mention it’s free?), start listing your stuff, and join my group. you can see my Listal profile here.

There’s a Walgreens within walking distance from our apartment. The next closest one is a mile away. We stopped going to the nearby Walgreens because the pharmacy manager is a fucking cunt. I hate that word and hardly ever use it, but she is. Long story. Another reason we avoid this Walgreens is because the cashiers are fucking idiots.

For being located only a mile away, I can’t believe the difference in IQs between the employees at this Walgreens and that of the ones working at the Walgreens closer to us. Anyway, the other nearby Walgreens has a 24-hour drive-thru pharmacy, so it makes more sense to fill prescriptions there. The sad thing is that they don’t sell decaf diet Cokes. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the nearby Walgreens does.

After driving Brian to work yesterday, I stopped by the nearby Walgreens for a 12-pack. The cashier was “Paul.” Ugh. I hate him. The last time I was there — months ago — he didn’t know how to make change, never mind that it says right on the cash register how much to give back. I figured that by now he should know his denominations.

Right before he rings me up, he starts coughing into his sweater sleeve. Several times. My total was $3.08, so to make things easy for him, I gave him a 5-dollar bill and 8 cents. What does he do? Licks his fingers before sliding 2 singles out of the drawer and handing them to me. Fucking yuck.

December 1999. I had just finished cleaning my apartment in Columbus before heading home for winter break. Basil’s emerging from his hidey hole behind the dish rack to see if it’s safe to come out yet. “Ebil” vacuum cleaners may be lurking, you know!