I spent the morning cutting a fuckload of brush.
For comparison purposes, that is about a car length, hence, one fuckload, or approximately two buttloads. If I cut any more I will run out of curb space; the Giant Claw that the county sends around on request won’t go past the No Parking To Corner sign because there are power lines there.
This is what happens when you have a monsoon summer. Holly, rhododendron and spruce had begun to embrace the corner of the house with obscene familarity, while Julio’s Repose was choked with hemlock and some sort of springy trashwood that I’ve never identified. Grapevines with root trunks as thick as my pinky were growing up through the foliage and Nandina was encroaching on the Tomb of the Unknown Kitty.
It took about four hours. I hacked and the Engineer toted, and after he went inside I went crazy with the reciprocating saw. I don’t know where this tool has been all my life. It was the Virginia Reciprocating Saw Massacre. I finally threw myself down panting on the porch steps and hollared for ice water. I think I remember saying “Stop me before I kill again.”
You can actually walk through there now.
Every morning, Torvald has to receive a pill and a syringe full of probably unconvincingly tuna-flavored medication. I can get a pill into him with a leglock but the syringe is rather hateful and requires the application of a Purrito ™. Agatha, who has been pounced on, chased, dicked out of window platforms and sunbeams, and generally endured a career of long suffering as Torvald’s only buddy, has figured out how to get her revenge, and it is called Humiliation.
“You are going to sit right there in that Purrito, and I am going to wave my butt in your face and for the greater indignity, groom your head.”
She would never do any of this — which for other cats would be a normal interaction — if he was loose. He just has to sit there and take it.
I gets my amusement where I finds it.