Arch enemy #1

My last apartment in Florida was on the first floor (that's second floor to all you people who start at 1). The biggest benefit to this was that passers-by could not gaze through my window and view the consequences of me forgetting I'd left my bath towel drying in the front room. The biggest disadvantage was that no cats could peer in either.

Don't get me wrong; Tallis hates other cats. Actually, she loathes them with a vengeance never before seen on earth. With people, she is the furry purry bundle of love, yet one sign of a whisker and satan himself has nothing on her. In the ground floor apartment previous to the last one, a neighbourhood kitty dropped by to look in the glass front door. It appeared a friendly type, but the greeting it received ultimately forced a verbal reply in kind and a swipe with the paw. This shadow boxing act sent Tallis flying backwards, matrix style, to slide against the opposite wall. I should emphasize that at no point had the door been opened.  Frankly, it was hilarious.

The lack of other felines is therefore a disappointment only to me but has now been rectified in my Canadian apartment. Meet "Arch enemy #1" (known as AE1 from this day forth). AE1 is looking through the basement window where I'm currently sleeping to avoid the heat. The window is open but there is a mosquito mesh separating Tallis from her new BFF. The look of mild disgust is entirely appropriate to the language, I admit.

You will note that AE1 has gotten him/herself comfortable. It was the start of a long day.

Grave diggers

Many questions arise when you approach a softball field to find your team-mates apparently in the process of digging a grave.

Had the previous team left a high body count for us to deal with? Or perhaps the umpire was so unreasonable he was lynched? Was it a failed PhD student's last wish to be buried in the place he spent most of his time? Was it truly necessary to bury the body on first base? Wouldn't the pitcher's mound be a better option, or the zombie graveyard just one field over?

Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the digging was an attempt to disperse the rain water that had formed small lakes on the diamond. Progress had been made in turning said lake into something approaching quick sand with rakes and a shovel.

It was a decent attempt, but evidently it looked too much like a tomb for the umpire not to see the potential death toll from our match. Accidents meant ambulances. Ambulances might mean helicopters. Helicopters meant the zombie graveyard would be awakened. You could see his thinking. He left, telling us we were welcome to play as long as he wasn't a witness.

At this point, I was planning to head off home but half my team (plus a guy we adopted/kidnapped from the other side) were staying on for practice. I thought of my nice, dry office. Then I thought of my fielding skills. I spun my umbrella around a few times. Finally, I remembered I was British and therefore impervious to water. I reassigned my umbrella the task of keeping a pair of shoes dry and picked up my glove. I didn't really have an excuse.