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Language Log

Tuesday, Jun. 05, 2012 - 6:41 a.m.

Ok, man. Rough 24 hours yesterday.

First, we went to the Gillian Welch concert in Flagstaff. Had some very good pizza first. That part was fine. Then the venue for the show was hot and stuffy and my feet started swelling and I spent the whole time rubbing ice water on every available surface and resisting the urge to take my pants off. Went outside for the intermission to cool down, and when we came back, someone had taken out seats. Sat through most of the second half of the show on a bar stool. Not comfortable. Not as hot, but still. Left just before the end because I was miserable. The music was enjoyable, though. I would have liked it a lot had the other circumstances not been what they were.

On the way home, got pulled over a half mile from the house. J got a ticket for not wearing his seat belt. The irony here is that of course, he HAD been wearing it-- this is a man who won't put the car in drive without everyone buckled up. He checks every time, and won't move until everything is in order. But he unbuckled to get his wallet out of his pocket immediately after we pulled over, and the cop never saw the seatbelt, so.

Then at 4:30 am, we got a call from our house alarm company that our alarm had gone off. Thus ensued several panicked hours of talking to cops, wondering how much damage there was, wondering if the place was going to be left hanging open until we got home, and general freaking out. Then a flurry to leave, driving home, etc. etc. Turns out it wasn't bad-- the alarm appears to have hastened their retreat. They did take my childhood jewelry box (filled with old beadwork and some pictures and other small mementos but absolutely no jewelry of commercial value)(Between my ex and these anonymous burglars, I have almost no mementos in the form of jewelry left now). Once again the chaos of my studio deterred them; not only do local burglars not approve of this new trend of alternative, non-precious materials in art jewelry, but they still can't recognize a roll of silver wire hanging on a wall. For which I am grateful. And my hulking out-of-date desktop remained unmolested. As did our hulking out-of-date TV. Here's to obsolescence!

It was Q's room they came in through, though. Guess how I feel about that.

The landlord was very on top of things-- the owner of the management company actually came over himself to make sure the house was secure and look at the damage. They're discussing ways to improve security for us. Back gates that lock would be a start. As would instructing their landscapers not to leave the gates that _do_ lock unlocked.

Then just as we're finishing the assessment of things, the neighbor comes over to commiserate and asks me if I have Ballyhoo. She hasn't seen him in 10 days; he had continued to lose weight, she thought I may have kenneled him or had him euthanized. No sign. Next door to her there's an abandoned house with open airholes to the basement-- actually several ways to get in. He may have gone in there since her cats often do-- it's cool down there. I can only hope if that's what happened, he went knowing it was time. And that it was. Not just going exploring and then finding he was too weak to jump out and then dying slowly. We called the owners of the house, but no response (apparently they don't much mind the idea of dead cats piling up in their basement). (That's not fair-- maybe today they'll call back. It hasn't been that long. But they don't give any attention to the property, so I'm not hoping for much.)

I don't hear him when I get close to it; I don't smell anything either. Do dead cats here even rot? Or do they just auto-mummify? I don't know what to think.

So we don't know. And there's nothing to be done about it.

Today is the transit of Venus-- going to go to the university to view it.

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