I used to think Halloween was a terrifically fun holiday. Somewhere along the line, though, I became Mr. Freeman, the old janitor at my elementary school, who lived near my grandparents when I was a kid, and was the only old codger on the street who had the balls to draw his blinds and turn out his light and REFUSE TO HAND OUT CANDY. Why, the noive!
I completely understand him now. It's just so damn much trouble. My animals freak out whenever anyone knocks or rings the bell, I never correctly estimate the amount of candy I need, and you can't watch anything on TV when the little demons (and princesses and ladybugs and French poodles, etc.) are constantly interrupting you. When did I get so curmudgeonly? Probably when living in my previous abode, where people drove their children from house to house, far away from their own neighborhoods, and some of those children looked a wee bit old for trick-or-treating, in my opinion. (The only mustaches seen on trick-or-treaters should be of the drawn or glued on variety, don't you think?) They also didn't know when to stop, continuing to drive up in carloads long past dark. I really don't care to answer my door to strangers at 10:00 p.m., Halloween or no.
So these days I either make plans to be elsewhere, or I turn off the lights, draw the blinds and hunker down with the critters until the madness ends. Tonight will be of the hunkering variety. I'm tired. Mr. Freeman probably was, too. Cleaning up after us little monsters all day.
In other news...we made it through the funeral yesterday. My friend and his brothers looked absolutely wiped out. Beyond merely sad. They seemed exhausted and numb. It was hard to see. No one should have to bury both parents in the same year. I think that's all I have to say about that.
In other, other news...I trapped another litter of feral kittens this weekend. Only two this time. (Earlier this summer, I trapped 4 from the same mother. The tramp.) I spent the weekend on my hands and knees, wedging myself into the cage with them, forcing them to accept my love, damn it. The orange one discovered his purr last night, and now I'm in love. Which is too damn bad for me, 'cause he's not coming in my house. There's no room at the inn. I sent an email down the animal rescue chain; hopefully someone will know someone looking for a kitten, or one of the rescue groups will have an opening. At least we're somewhat past high kitten season. That usually helps a bit. How do these animals find me? Where is the invisible flashing light that says "vacancy" and how do I change it to "NO vacancy"? Why can't I develop the ability to see a needy animal and assume someone else will help? Oh, never mind. I don't want to be that person. I'll go on spending money I don't have to take care of animals that have been let down by the people who should have been responsible for them. Who needs a nice car or the occasional vacation? I've got all the purrs a person could want. (Although, Universe? If you're listening? I could use a little break, 'kay? Thanks.) And in the meantime, anybody need an adorable kitten? Hey, maybe I could hand them out to trick-or-treaters! Hmm....KIDDING.