(no subject)

Note to self: When a rain delay causes a game to start at ten instead of seven, and you have work the next day, it is a bad idea to turn the TV on and say to yourself, "I'll just watch for a little while." Because you are a fucking liar, and you will not be able to pull yourself away for two hours because you have been entranced by Boomer's dominating performance, and then you will get maybe five hours of sleep for the second night in a row. Five hours of sleep is not sufficient when you go to work at a job you hate that has been complicated by grocery delivery and a cash audit.

I am so tired. But Wells was amazing, and I enjoyed watching him pitch (and watching our guys back him up with some runs), and when I found out that he pitched eight shut-out innings with only ninety-four pitches, seventy-four of which were strikes, I was glad that I had seen six of those innings. I was also glad that I apparently missed yet another Heart Attack Courtesy of Foulkie. Final score: 4-0, Red Sox. Now Boomer, if you would spread a little of that mojo to the rest of the starting rotation, that would be wonderful, because they have been making us sad for the last week. Spend some extra time with Wake, okay?

Other teams: Tigers lost 3-1, with that one run coming from Jason Johnson's homer. Hee. You really did have to do everything last night, didn't you, JJ? Astros won, 4-1, which makes their sixth win in twenty-nine road games. Woo! WORLD SERIES HERE WE COME!

The Yankees also managed a win, because they remembered that the Brewers kind of suck, so they talked amongst themselves and decided to score a billion runs. Next up for them: the Cardinals. I refuse to make any kind of prediction here, because every attempt I have made at a Yankee series prediction has been disaster (I predicted that the Tigers would take that series, that the Yankees would sweep the Red Sox, and that the Yankees would sweep the Royals. I LOSE). I will, however, observe that the Yankees are still under .500, and the Cardinals most decidedly are not.

Tonight: Off day for everyone except the Astros. I am going to bed early tonight - wait, Andy Pettitte's starting.

I'll just watch for a little while.

(no subject)

When I was living at my dad's house last year, his cat had kittens. One of them in particular my sister kind of latched onto and convinced my dad to keep. It took her forever to come up with a name for him, though, since she only visited on the weekends. Hard to get to know a cat well enough to name it when you don't see it that often.

Meanwhile, I was unemployed and home most of the day, and I became very close with the kitten, whom I ended up calling Kit as a compromise between letting my sister keep naming rights and having something to call him. (She ended up naming him Joey. I like mine better.)

Kit was a bit of trouble at first; when he and his two siblings were weaned, the other two graduated to hard food immediately, so that was all Dad and I put out. What we didn't notice, though, was that Kit wasn't eating; since the other two were eating plenty, we assumed all three of them were eating. He tried awfully hard to get at our food during meals, and was voracious the few times their mother let them nurse, but we just didn't make a connection until he started peeing in the food dish. (Peeing in the food dish, by the way, is a huge hint that there is something very wrong with your cat.) Lucky for him, even we weren't that stupid, so we - by which I mean I, since I was the one home most of the day - put two and to together and began making little dishes of hard food soaked in warm water for him. He figured that out immediately and there was no problem with his diet after that, but I've always felt badly about how he went hungry because we just didn't see that he hadn't adjusted to eating hard food.

Anyway. Kit and I hung out a lot. He always ended up camped out on my shoulder. (Making your coffee with a kitten on your shoulder is a treat.) He loved me, I loved him, and when I ended up having to move out so I could start working again and regroup, it broke my heart to leave.

I've been back to visit my dad a couple times since, and I think Kit remembered me. He seemed happy to see me, anyway.

Which brings me to my point. I just found out from my mom that Kit was hit by a car and killed last weekend.

That's - pretty much all I've got. I hadn't gotten to see too much of Kit in the past year, and I'd let go and moved on, and the news is new enough that I haven't quite figured out where this registers on the scale of suck yet. This isn't the first cat we've lost, but this isn't really the kind of thing that's helped by experience.