In which I speak of cat poo and other worldly matters.

08/07/2004 > 10:16 p.m.

In which I speak of cat poo and other worldly matters.

The other day, one of our cats hopped into the kitty-litter box, as most normal, house-trained felines do. Said box is about a metre and a half away from the keyboard where I am currently sitting, and said cat had apparently been saving up for a while. She scooped a big pawful of kitty litter out onto the floor, presumably to make room in the box for the massive onslaught of liquid cat that was to follow. Sorry, when I say "liquid" I actually mean "not as solid as it should be", if you get my drift. Anyway. Have you ever seen a cat produce such a horrific squelching noise that it actually looks startled? I have. She didn't quite know what to do next, so she kind of raked back the litter and then ran out of the room.

And then, after making the mistake of inhaling through my nose, so did I.

How the hell do cats do that?

They're like reverse perfume factories. In a perfume factory they get a whole bunch of foul chemicals and mix them up until they smell like flowers. Contrariwise, you could probably feed a cat a bunch of roses and it comes out smelling evil every time. It's biological warfare, yo. Right there under my cat's tail.

See how the smell actually turns the whole room around her psychedelic?

Yeah, that reminds me. You may have noticed that I don't write much that is deep or meaningful in this journal of mine. It's not because I don't have deep or meaningful thoughts; it's not even because I'm afraid of expressing myself for fear of ridicule. Simply put, I am lazy. Well, that, and I also happen to believe that some of the ideas one holds close to oneself are quite organic and might be shaped differently by the words used to describe them, or are susceptible to some remoulding through the sharing of ideas with others. Hence, that stuff is reserved for long drunken conversations with friends at parties.

But mostly I'm just lazy.

Also, the Machine at work stuffed itself up this morning. It was nothing major, and I was able to fix it up and no-one was any the wiser. Oh don't get me wrong - it wasn't my fault or anything (I didn't ask the spindle to weld itself to the job it was supposed to cut), but I'm sick of looking like a technologically-retarded clownboat in front of my manager. The sage advice offered to me by the last girl in my position (who just happened to be the owner's daughter) was "I learned very quickly not to hide all the evidence in one place". Yeah. So I think amongst my first spoken words this morning were: "you f!@#ing piece of - right. Hide the evidence."

Hey, apparently an Aussie was injured in this year's Running of the Bulls in Pamplona. Is it me or is an Aussie injured every year at the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona? Is this some kind of bovine class action? We in Australia are known throughout the world for our tremendous ability to produce cows in abundance, and then kill them and sell them to people all over the globe. Maybe this is their little proletarian revolution. One by one the bulls in Spain - and we all know about Spain and socialism - are standing up for the oppressed bovine masses by picking off us Aussie bourgeois with the grand vision of an equal society where beefsteaks and people-steaks are interchangeable.

I am so full of shit sometimes.

Isn't it good that Lindy Chamberlain might finally have an answer about what happened to her baby all those years ago?

Hey, just saying.

I was actually going to do an entry about how different sounds, particularly music, remind me of different times in my past, but by a weird coincidence a certain colourful smokable did it first, just a day ago. Funny how those music/memory associations don't ever stop forming though.

Oh bloody hell. Did I really just hear the words "a man raised as a chicken" on the news? Oh good lord, I did. Apparently this Fijian guy was locked in a chicken coop as a kid by his grandfather, and hence based most of his living habits on those of his surrounding cellmates. Gosh. Every time I think I have the world figured out something like this comes up. I remember once in year 8 or so, my maths teacher proved mathematically that 0.99999... equals one. That guy really messed with my head. Douglas Adams was right - as soon as humans get this universe figured out it will immediately disappear, to be replaced by something infinitely more puzzling.