Thou Unnecessary Letter

So last weekend really sucked.

I miss Luna, tiny bundle of fluff, nerves, and affection that she was. I miss the vocal demands for affection. I miss the morning cuddles, when she'd settle into the space beside me on the bed, not touching, but hanging out. I miss her amazing self-petting action: you'd put your hand out, and she'd rub back and forth under it. It's been completely weird going downstairs this week, and seeing Marinetti curled in the papasan chair, without Luna on the padded stool beside.

She lived with me for eight years, and there's now a Luna shaped hole in the world.

More practically, speaking, there's been room for another cat in this house. It's weird having just one cat here. And today, the Toronto Cat Rescue had an adopt-a-thon at a pet supplies store not far from here. So captain_mushroom, the increasingly-less-wee Mushroom Lad (who, ironically doesn't like mushrooms at all), and I went. Just to see. Maybe one of the cats there—not a black and white cat, not a skittish Ontario Barn Cat—needed to come home with me.

We saw a lovely black and white kitten named Lily, who played with everyone. She could have gone home with anyone, and eventually she did. But not with me. Captainmushroom fell in love with a spotty black and white girl, who snuggled into his arms (and into mine), but eventually went home with someone else. Two tiny black kittens—two months old, and all eyes, fluff, and little tails—entranced the WML, but we knew that tiny kittens would find a home. A dignified grey fellow looked lovely, and his fosterer assured us that he had the temperament to match, but he wouldn't give me the time of day. Ditto the trio of slightly older kittens: one mostly black, one black and white, and one calico. 

And then I opened the cage for this two-year-old beauty, and she wandered into my arms, and looked up at me, and purred quietly.

So, despite some reservations about how she would get on with Marinetti, I went home to get the carrier and sabotabby  and I brought her home. 

So far, she's spent about an hour sitting on top of my shoes in the back of my closet, wandered out into my office to snurfle around and nibble some kibble, wandered out of the office and explored my room, exchanged some Language with Marinetti, and discovered the nice place to hang out on the chest under the window. Right now, she and Marinetti are staring at each other, but he's staying in the hallway and not making eye contact, and she's settled on the floor of my room. I expect a certain amount of discussion will ensue. 

I think her name is Musetta. 

She doesn't replace Luna, but she's a lovely girl who will, I expect, make her own place in this household. 

sabotabby posted some of the spoils of our not-very-suitable-decoration phototreck. I was confident that we hadn't captured the extent of weird seasonal decorations even in our kind of boring neighbourhood, but took a break to get ready for the various festivities.

Turns out that there's more in our very neighbourhood:

Exhibit 1: The Underinflated Penguin



It's not that I'm opposed to decorations. But I do like some sort of consistency. And I really generally don't like inflated things that are not balloons. Underinflating your penguin causes it to look like it needs the services of a chiropractor, or maybe an EMT unit with a spinal board.

Exhibit 2: On Second Thought, Inflated May Be Preferable



Okay, hanging empty stockings I understand, though you're supposed to do that indoors, on the mantle of your fireplace, or, if you don't have a fireplace, wherever you can hang a stocking. I'm not sure what an empty Santa suit conveys. Are they waiting for St. Nick to fill his own suit with his jolly self? (Hint to the denizens of this house: that suit is TOO SMALL.) It looks more to me as if they killed Santa and are hanging his pelt outside their home as a trophy, or perhaps as a warning. Eep.

On Christmas day, captainmushroom and I went for a walk and hit Unsuitable Decoration Mecca.

Exhibit 3: The Upholstery Shop



Oh man, I don't even know where to begin with this place. It's just AWESOME. Here are some details:



The cadaverous zombie guy is a permanent fixture of the window, as are, I think Lisa Simpson and Robin. The tinsel headdress is seasonal.



Quilted-body Chuck Norris doesn't wait for Santa. Quilted-body Chuck Norris is Santa. You better watch out!






There's really nothing unsuitable about the Daddy Kissing Santa-Claus picture, except for the Rockwell-esque style, but somehow I think my mom would find it objectionable. No, I have no idea what Henry VIII is doing there.



You need to see the Daddy Kissing Santa picture up close to fully appreciate its delicate, nuanced portrayal of the holiday spirit.



I don't even. All I can think is that no Christmas idyll is really complete without random superheroes.

And finally, the saddest Christmas gargoyle I have ever seen:



This gargoyle is SO SAD FOR BEING A REINDEER.

Re-posted from Facebook:




Notwithstanding my own questioning whether Emma Lee and the singer-songwiter ilk really count as "folk" musicians ...

( and other ruminations, shared by many others, about the nature of folk music. )
I love this song, love this woman's voice, and want to spread some of her magic.

Some of you have heard this already, but here is where I'm going to be, next week, and what I'm going to be doing.

( Cut for them as don't much care )