Shroomin'

Look at the alien life form I discovered today! Does that mean I get to name it? To tour it's home planet before any one else? I went for a walk in the forest today, intending to just sprawl on the soft bed of needles and maybe even take a nap. How soon the blue skies dissipate the fog and rain, or at least my memory of it. The ground wasn't soaking, but close. So I turned my quest to press as much of my body's surface area against the wild earth to a quest for mushrooms.

Each of the kitties took a turn sniffing the bread-gone-bad looking suckers, Sebastian rather warily. I poked it with a stick. I should have guessed by the twigs embedded in it that it was soft, but it's doughy consistency took me by suprise. Or maybe it was the clear liquid that ran out from where my twig touched that did it. If cream puff looking carnivores descend in a vengeful wrath from another planet, you can thank me for wounding their emissary. Look at that thing. Weeeeiird.

I found some rather plump acorns, too. I swear, one day I'm going to take my hair down and three or four will hit the ground around me. I found one on the back of the couch when I reached for the remote. There was one on the bathroom counter that I may have picked apart while, um, waiting. Nevermind! There is one on my desk, and one at the base of the stove, and several in my pocket. Although, after today, they may be a less desirable toy for awhile, at least for Pheonix. See, Lilly already learned last year that she has no knack for stopping them before they home in on her pretty pink nose. Poor Pheonix. I tossed him a really big one, and he LEAPED into the air, only to miss with his paws and connect audibly with his nose. He dropped to the ground and crouched there, nose wrinkled, mouth open, and held that pose for a minute. Then he flattened his ears and scampered down the deer path, tossing his head to my cries of "Oh, Pheonix! Are you okay, darling? Aaaaaww! Poor boy!"

It reminded me of how kids can get over confident and cocky, or at least, how I can, and one time when I was ten or so. I was in pennsylvania visiting my family, and I was throwing a softball around with my two uncles, whom I worshipped (still do, actually). All the words of encouragement as I started to really let that ball fly, and my head growing bigger by the second. I got my pitchin' swagger on, yelled out for them to, "go further!", and even threw in a little side spittin here and there to show I was big time, major league, the real deal, playah! And then a return pitch bounced up outta my glove and smacked me right in the face. It was at that point, the hot air whooshing from my ego in nanoseconds, that I really had an irk about calling those things "soft" balls. And I cried, and felt like a dork. I was back to peewee player.

It makes me laugh now, but boy did I learn some stuff that day. One, just because the ball hit your glove doesn't mean success is guaranteed- you have to CLOSE that glove! Hang on to that ball! And two, if I'm feeling not just confident but cocky, I try to take a second's pause to take in the situation. Oh yeah, and throw underhand... when tossing acorns for exuberant, unsuspecting kitties! Not that Pheonix was being cocky. He's more in a permanant state of self righteous entitlement. Which he deserves! If only his humble servant would throw the 'corns correctly.

Wounding my darling cat and starting intergalictic wars (maybe), I'm on a roll today!