melannen | In neutral American dialect, "Senate" sounds almost exactly like "Cynic". (Reply)

Modem still not working.
I begin to feel like Aragorn; perhaps I should vow not to wash my hair until-- oh, wait, I do that anyway.

Ahem. Went quilting at church this morning. You don't know the meaning of "worked your fingers to the bone" until you've spent hours laboring over a sharp needle without a thimble. What with that and hand-stitching several gifts at home, my sewing calluses were outclassed; my fingertips feel like raw meat. Mom and I tied seven quilts while Nellie sewed three backs to fronts and Helen and Mary ripped the hems out of donated sheets that will become quilt backs. The quilts go to refugees by way of LWR; we make something approaching 150 a year. Helping makes me feel at least slightly useful. Plus it's fun listening to the old ladies share their wisdom and tell tales of man-eating toilets and tease Mom about her hot flashes. (This and flirting with the old men at the nursing home is my summer social round.)

I *had* meant to update before now; but I have books. I've been reading Brother Cadfael, and The Handmaid's Tale, and some old Heinlein juveniles I hadn't touched for years, and cyberpunk from the library, and quite a lot of non-fiction. Also my physiological response to forty days and nights of rain is apparently to sleep sixteen hours a day. And I've been drawing, and going through old papers. Oh, and writing.
Y'know,this might even count as S/M S&M . . . if you squint *really* hard . . .

The scruffy lantern-eyed cat stalked out of Filch's with an offended twitch in her tail, followed shortly thereafter by a frantic tabby, to the sounds of masculine protest.

The tabby cornered the other down the hall, visibly nervous. "You won't-- you won't tell Argus, will you?"

The skinny cat licked herself contemptously before answering. "Who a queen chooses to mate with is her own business. But *really*. Couldn't you at least try to live up to your felinity?"

The tabby ruffled herself, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. We honestly didn't know you were there, Mrs. Norris. I can't hear or smell very well as I -- usually am. And you were well-hidden, to human eyes."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Professor. If you're going to rut on another queen's territory, it's only common courtesy to switch to your superior form and ask permission." She forestalled the professor's protest with a patronizing flip of the tail. "But as it happens, that wasn't what I meant. I was referring to your execrable taste in toms. All those young, randy males in your pride, and you choose that one? Does he ever groom his fur?"

The tabby curled her tail defensively around her feet and narrowed her eyes. "He can't help it, it grows that way. Better greasy than scruffy, anyway. Not that you're in position to talk; I saw you with that Cruikshanks your last time-of-month. Really, he resembles an old carpet; I know anything must look good after Argus, but--"

"Ohh, you've gone too far now," she hissed (that phrase is sufficiently sibilant for hissing in Ailurin), claws out.

The professor backed away quickly and crouched submissively. "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have said that, I'm a bit out of sorts, you interrupted us at a bad time."

"Well." said Mrs. Norris. "Perhaps." She let her fur settle back down, accepting the excuse. "I suppose I would not be happy, either-- but really, I don't know why you even bother with human men; boringly straight and smooth-- they aren't even barbed! I've looked!"

"Um." said the professor. "Perhaps I should say that I prefer prickly personalities, and leave it at that. Will you just promise me, queen's honor, not to tell Argus what you saw?"

"I so swear, queen to queen. I wouldn't have told him anyway, you know; there are some things Man is not meant to know. But!" she added, "I won't guarantee his temper if you don't clean, and properly put away, his precious whip and shackles once you've let your tom down."

The tabby's eyes went almost as big as Mrs. Norris's. "Oh god! I left Sev chained up! Sh-- shoot!" She ran back down the corridor full speed.

Maybe most cats can't grin, but the Cheshire Cat could, and Mrs. Norris certainly was.

I am running out of locations for these; I suppose there's always the greenhouses and Hagrid's, but those are so overdone.

Haven't been online much; dropping by e2, and a few can't-miss webcomics, and trying to keep up with my friendslist is about it. Apparently I've missed steal-a-friend week? Well, I've been meaning to add some people for a while; rest assured, new friends, that if I am a day late, yet still I am not a sketchy stalker kid, but merely a sincere admirer, too shy to post in your journals.

by way of