Scourge of earth, catsomeness, meatloaf

To the chaise. And then, foiled.

So after going like a madwoman today and taking the boys out to dinner after camp and treating cupcakes and bathing their filthy bodies and trimming their grimy nails, I finally made it out to my chaise. It is heavenly, not least because we have been treated to the most glorious of weather in DC the past couple days. 48 degrees at Dulles this morning! Wha, climate change?! Those cool mornings sure make for lovely days.

Anyway, I came out here so enthusiastically. I'm pooped, eager to drink my glass of rosé, be quiet and work on a crossword puzzle. And damn if scourge of the earths, aka, mosquitoes, aka POSs aren't trying to drive me back in.

What good are these little flying asshats? Other than bat food, I can think of nothing redemptive (and all the damn bats are dying, so we may soon be in a real bind). Quite the contrary actually. When I was 11 or 12, a mosquito in Natchitoches, LA, bit and infected me with Western Equine Encephalitis. Doesn't that sound fun?

It wasn't. It presented with a headache the likes of which I'd never seen, then I thought my stomach was eating me from the inside out and despite being hospitalized, I almost died. The whole episode really sucked, as might what my husband is doing now which is lying on his stomach and trying to pull our dishwasher out of its nook to assess why it suddenly stopped using any water last night. You can imagine that a waterless dishwasher is not terribly effective.

So if this puppy is broken, can we call it quits on repairs now? I mean, this would mean that the mechanized Trinity of home care has completely gone to hell in just a few months: washer, dryer, dishwasher.

But I digress. Mosquitoes. They are nothing but a bane, a complete downer for all involved. Except the poor bats. I hate mosquitoes with the fire of 5,000 suns.

The Nut = catsomeness.

Have I mentioned just how terribly besotted with my cat I really am? He is fabulous. Just look at this napping pose. Look at his rear paws, all curled in and snug. His tail is wrapped just so, his arms thrown across his bow as if that's just where they landed when kitty dreaming commenced.

I love him with the fire of 5,000 suns.


Pesto-turkey meatloaf for dinner. It's cooking now and happens to resemble a slab of brain, but I know it will be delicious.