Stuff That Happens In My Neighborhood

On Tuesday as I was leaving for work (note, did not fall down stairs this time so already day was looking up), I found that 4 blocks around my place had been shut down by the police and the helicopter was circling.  Ahh good times, reminded me of my place in Echo Park where you got nervous if the helicopter wasn't there*.  About 8 cop cars and multiple cops running around with guns.

People were being told to go inside and lock the doors so they all stood out on the street in their pajamas instead.  Authority means nothing to this town of actors - it's more important to observe in case they ever need to play one of these parts.  Police were running up and down the alleys, in and out of buildings because apparently there was a burglar running wild.  

Two things:

1. Why would he pick that time of day to burgle people?  Everyone's getting up and getting ready for the day.  Could he not have gone and had a coffee for an hour until people left for work?  Terrible planning on his part.
2. Who here thinks they could have taken him?  Albert could have taken him.  From under the couch.  With a well-timed swipe of his paw. 

   

   So we needed a police helicopter, 15 officers, some guns and some interested bystanders that just bystanded to take this guy down? 

*Throwback to diary post**, 2013: My street tonight - gunshots and now police helicopter circling. Police just used loud speaker thingy to tell those in the yellow house on the corner of Reservoir St to come out with their hands up and walk backwards to the side walk. I'm diagonal from the yellow house. Also, forgot color of house so have just gone out to check. Green/blue. I'm good. They keep telling a woman in the house to come out, she's not cooperating. Helicopter lights must be pretty powerful if they can tell someone is still in the house and it's a woman - have therefore decided to put clothes on. Also feel woman is not a very good criminal if she doesn't know to stay away from the windows and hide. Have sent Albert out to scout. Have retrieved Albert from under couch and sent him out again. Don't read this, Mum.
**Just kidding, I'm too lazy to have a diary - I stole this from my FB post. Well, I mean I have a diary because I love notebooks, I just don't like to write in them. It ruins them. Words ruin notebooks.

Ear Muffs, Albert!

So before I was a cat lady*, I was a dog girl - I was younger. When I lived in New Zealand, I had a dog called Shelby. Named after the lead character on Steel Magnolias**. I loved that dog, she slept next to me in bed with her little head on a pillow, her own electric blanket controls and pretty much all the same perks that Albert has. Which is perfectly normal. When I would get home from work, I'd stop at the top of the drive to get the mail from the letterbox and she would sit on my lap for the drive down the hill to the house. I let her steer. She wasn't very good***. Sometimes all the time we hit the hedge. And we laughed and laughed.  And then left the car there.

So that was the happy part. If sad things upset you, stop reading now.

One day while I was at work****, we got burgled. I was living with my cousin at the time who had a Golden Labrador called Molly. The two of them had a very clever run that we'd built out the back for them. It was so clever that every day they dug their way out. And every day we built more of the Great Wall of China underground to stop them. That Great Wall of China is not all it's cracked up to be. The good news is that the dogs stopped the burglars from breaking in. The bad news is that they took Shelby. Luckily the neighbor behind us witnessed it all and went and hid under her bed. Because calling the police was too obvious for a grown woman. That was the last year she got a Xmas card from me.

Turns out there was a dog fighting ring in the area and the police think Shelby was taken so she could fight. Hah burglars!  Jokes on you - sort of. Shelby was as much of a fighter as Albert is. And let me remind you of all the things that Albert is not afraid of. Nothing. Albert's most comfortable position: flat on his stomach under the couch fighting with the dust bunnies. Who kick his arse every time. 
The vet told me that with the type of dog she was (mongrel is a harsh word, I prefer shepherd/doberman/rottweiler mix but primarily shepherd), she would likely die of a broken heart as they're one person dogs. Albert is also like that. Except for the dog part*****.

So, that was that. I choose to believe that she died of a broken heart rather than in a dog fight. If you are wondering if I handled it well, I did not. My mother sent my brother up from the city he lived in to check on me, my aunt sent me to the hairdresser for a pick-me-up haircut and I pined. Fair warning for when something happens to Albert. Right, well that was uplifting, wasn't it. Come back tomorrow for some more cheerful stories....

*And again, let me remind the doubters that a true cat lady has more than one, she clearly takes very good care of all of them because they have all their eyes so there is still a slim chance for me.
**I challenge anyone to get through that movie without shedding a tear.
***But imagine her today with one of those assisted parking things in the car.
****Which just backs up my theory that working is bad for you.
*****Apparently this is what I do - animals, people, cake. They meet me and I become their one person. No wonder I'm single - men are clearly afraid of falling under that kind of spell.

Do You Know What Love Is?

Love is picking up your cat, tipping him upside down, listening to him purr and watching him pump his little legs like he's riding a bike because the act of you holding him is ecstasy.

Love is having him lick the salt off your face when you've been crying*, then watching him go pfft, pfft with his tongue, trying to spit the taste out because he accidentally got some of your expensive moisturizing lotion. But still coming back for more.

Love is having him sit as close as possible to you without caring about whether you've put on weight, instead embracing the fact that there is more lap to go around.

Love is him waking up the instant you use the "come here' voice, making a beeline for you and being thrilled that you called. No complaints about being disturbed and ordered to do something. Just huge excitement.

Love is him turning around 1000 times on my lap before getting comfortable because he thinks he's in it for the long haul and wants to get his spot just right.

Love is having him look adoringly at my face regardless of wrinkles or age**.

Love is your cat sprinting to meet you the instant you open the door but playing it cool on alternate days so you don't get a fat head or over estimate your importance.

Love is being welcomed home by your cat after leaving them for a week while you went on vacation. With no recriminations. And not even complaining when they accidentally got stowed away with the luggage after the unpacking***.

Love is having him help with the laundry by lying all over it. But only when it's clean****.

Love is being greeted the instant you step out of the shower by winding around your legs until they are covered in black hairs. Actually this isn't love, this is just annoying.

Love is hiding under the couch when a burglar comes but hissing and lunging at small children that visit. Wait. Not love. This is erratic, unexplainable behavior.

Love is ignoring the cat lady jokes that are sure to follow...and by love I mean, I will not scratch***** anyone's eyes out for making such comments, because the new me loves everyone.  Mostly.  Except for some of you.

*Not me because I don't cry. I'm too brave. And crying is for girls.
**He has poor eyesight. Also, only one eye. So doesn't really have a leg to stand on when it comes to criticism. And just to be clear, he has all his legs. I'm only responsible for the eye.
***Not really my fault - he climbed in when I wasn't looking and I got him out as soon as I heard the crying from the closet. Possibly, he was making a point. At the wrong end of the journey.
****The fact that I didn't yell (Much. For very long) at him shows I love him. This is a reverse love example.
*****Pun intended