Marbles Are Over-Rated

I like this comment I saw at Confessions Of A Cat Woman:  “Marbles are over-rated.” I like this because I think I’m pretty much losing mine at this juncture.

Here’s my story and I’m sticking to it:  It’s so hot, even the cats can’t get the gumption to fight standing up.

Here’s Bugs, inspecting a bag that caused me to lose sleep.

Lose sleep how?  Well, one thing, you can see the chew marks on the right side.  Fangie took the fancy that the bag was edible.  His digestive system begged to differ and up came the pretty blue bits.

But that’s not all.  See the raffia handles?  After dining to his satisfaction, Fangie somehow managed to insert himself right into and through them.  They were so tight around his midsection they began cutting off the circulation.  I found out about this when, as I lay peacefully sleeping, up hurtled Fangie right straight onto my face.  Screaming Mom!  Mom!  Get this thing off me!

Sorry.  I couldn’t help it. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t hold my hand steady enough to cut them off.

And then there was this perfect storm of miscommunication the other day.  This, too, might have been funny, except that the meeting was with a prospective employer.

I thought we were going to meet at the branch of this coffee shop on the town square.  The employer was waiting at another branch altogether.  She had left e-mails about this, but my phone’s just a phone.  Not one of those fancy internet doo-dad smart thingies.  So I never saw those e-mails.

I tried to call the number I had for her, but all I got was dead air.  And she didn’t have my phone number.  So I left a voicemail with another friend, who I thought could help.  And then gave up, and drove home.  In my un-airconditioned car, so it was between 120 and 140 f. in there.

As I walked in the door, Bugsy was yelling at me.  Most uncharacteristic.  Usually he’s purring.  I could hear Fangie yelling at me too.  Also the phone was ringing.

So I picked up the phone.  I could hear my friend’s voice, but she didn’t seem to be connected to her phone.  Instead, I could hear someone else telling my friend  how wonderful she is, and I could hear my friend responding — but I just didn’t get the feeling that I was included in that conversation.  Despite me trying to chime in that my friend is, indeed, wonderful.  So I hung up, mystified.

The next mystery was:  Where was Fang.  You probably can guess.

In the closet.  Behind the closed door.

Where he had been for the prior seven hours.

He did not pee, nor did he chew.  Poor baby.  We can be thankful for small miracles.

So do you agree that marbles are over-rated?  I kind of have to believe that, at this juncture.