Fear

Darth Maul and his brother Savage Opress (I know, it's a little heavy-handed for a name, but it surprisingly fits) from Star Wars: The Clone Wars
Via www.scifinow.co.uk

A few months ago, I got Three heavily invested in the Star Wars: The Clone Wars series, which was difficult because a) he usually doesn't watch cartoons* and b) most of what he does watch is comprised of depressing movies and documentaries**, which really isn't a bad thing, but it can get tedious. Anyway, he almost went nuts when we didn't have the internet, and therefore, no Netflix with which to watch The Clone Wars, for the first couple of weeks after I moved to Louisville. When AT&T finally arrived and gave us the gift that is an internet connection, he binged. And I mean, binged. He was only on Season 4 when we left Small Town, and by the end of the week, he was in Season 6. Granted, the last two seasons had significantly fewer episodes than the previous ones - 20 for Five and 13 for Six, although I think that was because it was a Netflix-only offering - but still, I congratulated him on his achievement, such as it was.

You'll have to excuse me, because I'm about to go full-on Fangirl here, but seriously, The Clone Wars is brilliant in their approach and execution. It makes me wish that they'd had their hands on the prequel trilogy. I mean, I think that literally anyone else could have done better with the prequels than old Georgie did***, but I digress. They delve into the worlds of less well-known characters, like the individual clones (Rex, Fives, Tup, etc. - Fives is my favorite, in case you were wondering), Jedi Masters Plo Kloon and Aayla Secura, pirates and criminal organizations (Black Sun, represent!), Asajj Ventress, and scores more. Even though the series still deals with sadly canon premises, like midichlorians (blech) and the existence of Jar Jar (who oddly enough is not so bad in this iteration, except in his final episodes where he is inexplicably the lover of a queen of a neutral world?? Yeah, I don't know, either.), it still valiantly tries to give those a little bit of substance. I have to give them mad props.

By the time we got to the last few episodes of the series, I had a revelation: the entire thing was about fear and how it changes and affects you, a fairly appropriate topic given the last few months. You can definitely see Anakin's steady descent into the Dark Side - less of a, "Oh, I just killed Master Windu, I guess I'm evil now," and more of a slow, insidious process in which he lets his own fears dictate his actions. He's frightened of both his own powers and his lack of power, and even admits to Ahsoka Tano, his padawan, that he has considered leaving the Jedi Order. The clones all fear that they are simply a number, a tool to be used by whomever is in power. Ahsoka feels that she has no control over her fate but often buckles under pressure when she is in command. Padme watches her husband grow stronger and more "evil" and second-guesses her choice to marry him. Barriss Offee, another padawan, is angry that the Jedi have lost their way and predicts that this war will be their downfall, and that of the galaxy. All of the Jedi sense the growing negativity around them but have no idea what to do about it, or even if they could. Palpatine, as Three put it, is the embodiment of the idea, weaseling around behind the scenes and controlling his own rise to power, from which he will inevitably fall. The theme of fear permeates every single episode, almost as a separate character in and of itself.

And that brings me to one of my favorite episodes, in which fear indeed becomes a singular entity. One of the final episodes of the sixth season has Yoda in search of further training, leading him to the planet where the Force began. He meets five priestesses, all of whom represent emotions (Joy, Anger, Confusion, Sadness, and Serenity) of one consciousness. In one of the most poignant scenes, Yoda is fighting his own shadow self, what Yoda could be if he succumbed to the Dark Side; even as he battles it, rejecting its existence, it grows more powerful and violent. It isn't until Yoda recognizes his shadow as part of himself that he is able to defeat it. Dammit, if that isn't profound, I don't fucking know what is.

It gets me thinking of my own shadow self, the one that is ruled by the fear of failure, of losing loved ones, of not knowing what I'm truly here on this earth to do. For so long, that part of me has existed in the back of my mind, often using the voice of my parents****, and it is exactly what has me in a state of limbo, which for me, is the worst place I could possibly be. I thrive in scenes of action. It's why I get antsy when I'm in the middle of knowing what I need to do and being able to do it. And when I'm there, I'm incredibly snarky and cruel, dismissive and idle, itching for something to do but not having the attention to do anything. But I have to face that version of me and integrate it. Knowing that it is there isn't enough; I still have a certain disdain for myself when I'm operating in that vein. How can I embrace that part of me and make it useful to me?

Well, it looks like my own fears and I have some Jedi training to do.

* I finally convinced him to watch the woefully historically inaccurate Anastasia with me and was thrilled when he actually enjoyed it. He even quotes the little bat Bartok from time to time. "And I kick her, sir."
** He had me watch 1993's Falling Down with Michael Douglas, under the pretense that it was a, and I quote, "happy movie." Spoiler alert: out of options and feeling completely abandoned, Michael Douglas' character fucking dies at the end. Three's response? "But he didn't kill his family!" Said with such positivism that I nearly felt bad about growling at him and not talking to him for about ten minutes. Nearly.
*** If you haven't already watched Belated Media's take on the prequels, you totally should. I was shouting, "OMG YES," almost orgasmically, at all of their solutions. They haven't done Ep. 3 yet, but I am eagerly awaiting their take on it.

**** My parents are wonderful people, I will say. But they simply have a different way of looking at life that does not jive with mine at all.

Umpires or Vampires

New game, guys. Umpire? Or Vampire?

Umpire or Vampire?
Via businessinsider.com

Umpire or Vampire?
Via gods-and-monsters.com

Umpire or Vampire?
Via Schohannaumpires.org

Umpire or Vampire?
Via paranormalhaze.com

Umpire or Vampire?
Via Larry Coor

Umpire or Vampire?
Via A Twilight Hater's Review of the Twilight Film

Really, at this point, it's anyone's guess. They both hide among us.

Backstory: a few days ago, Ernests Gublis gaffed. Hilariously. Now, I'm not a big follower of tennis, in that I'm not really a big sportsball person period, but I may have to watch this guy because he is awesome. Just go watch the video here and laugh your ass off. If you don't want to click over, which I recommend because the commentary is awesome, I'll sum it up here: Gublis misheard the reporter* asking about John McEnroe** stating that umpires should be removed from the game (using the honor system, I guess), instead hearing "vampires." The thing is, he responded with such seriousness, all the while carrying this WTF expression on his face.

* I'll be honest, when the journalist first said "umpires," I heard "vampires," too, so I can't really fault him for his mistake. 

** Apparently, what he said was at least partially in jest, but this is John McEnroe, and even someone who isn't an avid tennis fan knows his ... reputation as being a bit of a hothead. 

Life with Pets: Godzilla Kitty - A One-Act Play

Early in the morning in New Apartment, THREE arises to get ready for work. He kisses JUJU lightly on her nose and pulls the covers over her, and still mostly asleep, she grumbles at him. KITKAT chooses to continue to sleep, cuddled next to Juju, but BINA and ZOLA dutifully follow him out of the bedroom, eagerly awaiting noms. BITSY is already in the kitchen, on top of the counter.

BITSY: Daddy!! I am hungry! And also bored! Look at all the stuff I knocked down throughout the night!
THREE: Good morning, Tiny.
BINA: Hungry?
ZOLA: Daddy! Food! I would like food!
THREE: Give me a second, guys. I'm not completely awake yet.

Bina and Zola pout, but Bitsy decides to take a more proactive approach. Her bowl, which sits on the counter, has "somehow" been moved close to the edge, so she saunters over to it and bats it hard enough so it clatters to the floor, the bits of food remaining in it landing everywhere. 

THREE: Really?
BITSY: Feed me.

Disgruntled, Three makes his way to the cat food container, nearly tripping over Zola. He glares down at her, and she gives him the old puppy dog eye treatment.

ZOLA: Hi, oh, sorry! Uh, I am hungry, too?
THREE: Let me take care of the cats so Bitsy won't knock more stuff over.
ZOLA: I wish I could do that.

He takes a step and his foot, a rather tender thing, lands directly on something hard and plastic. 

THREE: OW!! SHIT!

He looks down and sees an amazingly intact plastic fork. One of the tines had stuck directly into his sole and left a lovely little red mark.

THREE: Bitsy!
BITSY: What? I thought it looked better there.

He then looks around the apartment. Bitsy managed to push nearly everything that was not furniture onto the floor: the Mass Effect 3 case, the remote for the TV, the Xbox controller, two candles, the plastic container of change that was sitting on top of the bookshelf, one of Juju's earrings, several books that, the last time he saw them, were snugly placed on the shelf, two blankets, the dog leash that was hanging on the wall, a decorative bowl, a water bottle that he thinks was in the fridge?? ... He has to stop looking or else he is going to get even more pissed.

THREE: What are you? Godzilla??
BITSY: What's a Godzilla? Is it a fierce hunter?

She leaps onto his shoulder and bops his head.

BITSY: I am a fierce hunter. Feed me.

Three growls and lets her jump off of him back onto the counter, which - of course - is littered with half-eaten bits of cat food.

THREE: What the hell? You could fill a bowl with all of this!
BITSY: They didn't pass inspection. Or it's possible that I forgot about them.
BINA: Food? Pleeeeeeease?? I haven't eaten ever. In my life.
ZOLA: I AM LITERALLY DYING.
THREE: Well, at least Kitkat is content right now.
KITKAT: (offstage) I wouldn't be so sure.

Kitkat ambles into the kitchen, performing a full body shake, and sits patiently on the kitchen floor, looking at her bowl.

KITKAT: I will wait.
BITSY: (hissing) You are supposed to be asleep.
KITKAT: I'm ignoring you. For now.

Juju, still in her underwear and a large T-shirt that was once her father's from college, stumbles into the hallway on her way to the bathroom. She surveys the scene through her sleep haze and stretches. 

JUJU: Bitsy?
THREE: Bitsy.
JUJU: This is why we own nothing that is glass.

The End.

Positive Affirmations and a Dream Journal

Okay, so Three and I went to our first class at the School of Metaphysics on Monday evening, and it was ... oddly awesome. We have one other person, M, in our class, and she's a Sag like me, so we are already getting along swimmingly. Our instructor, who I'll be referring to as J-Rock, is an incredibly insightful person and probably one of the chillest guys I've ever met. Eventually, Three and I will be split up into two separate classes, to provide us each with our own experience separate from another, but for now? Yep. We'll be in school together.

Funnily enough, the first class coincided with the last post of mine about my depression, and I walked out of class feeling so much better than I did when I walked in. I'm not going to lie; I was mainly going for two reasons. I needed to get out of the house, and I was skeptical that this would be any help to me. I consider myself a Christian with Buddhist tendencies, so this was definitely out of my little box. I practiced Wicca when I was in my late teens into my early twenties, so it wasn't as if I was unfamiliar with the whole metaphysical thing. But I've been so adverse to joining any spiritual community, Christian or otherwise, mainly due to incredibly negative experiences in churches, covens, and temples. Still, I got in the car and told myself that I would at least give it a shot, for Three's sake.

The school is located in a little house about ten minutes away from our cave, and it's probably the cutest place I've been to in a while: probably built in the 30s or 40s, lots of calming pastels, an open kitchen when you first walk in (with, of course, as much neo-crunchy food as you can imagine), tons of inviting decorations everywhere. And the people? Oh, my GOD, the people. Some of the friendliest, most open individuals I have ever crossed. I didn't feel like an outsider, which is usually what happens when I'm in a brand new place where everyone knows each other. We were all there for the same thing: to learn about ourselves and God, in whichever image we choose to see It*.

Anyway, class was three hours long, and it was basically just finding out what the school was about, getting our first "homework" - some reading for next week's class, starting a dream journal, and a concentration exercise - and learning about each other. But honestly? I got so much more out of the first class than I thought I would. Even in college, the first class was usually "here's the syllabus, I'm a hardass/easy-going teacher, no homework for today/here's the first assignment, etc." so I wasn't necessarily paying too much attention during those. But in the introduction, one of the other graduated students (on a CD) said something that still sticks with me: "Obstacles are what you expect them to be." And that got me thinking about what I said just a few days ago. To paraphrase: will I ever get better or am I doomed to repeat the cycle of depression over and over again until the day I die?"

Obstacles are what you expect them to be. Before class, I was talking to a woman we'll call Betty, and I was explaining how I felt like I had come across this wall with no possible way to avoid it, that I'd just set up camp and was trying to figure out a way to blast it into oblivion, climb it, dig under it, or whatever. I simply was stuck, and she said, "Or you just recognize that it's there for a reason and then build a door." I don't think I can express to you how much this hit me later. Any obstacles that are in my way are there for a reason, and I have to accept them. My depression has a source and a purpose; it's a landmark, a monument to this thing I hadn't been able to deal with. This idea that I had to conform and live a life that wasn't mine. I'm not going to delve too deeply into, mainly because I haven't actually come to terms with it yet. But fuck if I'm not going to build that goddamn door. It may take a while, considering how far this goes back, but I think that I can do it. No, I know that I can do it.

Now, don't worry. I'm not going to go all esoteric on you. Believe me, there is nothing more annoying than constant reminders that someone is spiritual (at least to me). I once dated a guy who referred to Jesus and His Saving Grace in every conversation, even when we were discussing where we were going to eat that night. This was mainly a diary entry for me, really - a way for me to document the beginning of something that is going to be wonderful, which I am pretty sure is much less of a mood killer than another screed on why I'm depressed. So wish me luck, friends, and I'll see you on the other side.

* We really need to find a pronoun that doesn't have the blah quality of "it."
** Granted, the people who write the little blurbs tend to know specific signs really well and will just scribble down something that appeals to each sign. Like for most Sagittarius ones? "Go ahead and go with your gut feeling! You will find the path!" Ugh. Eye. Roll. Or for Libras? "Be sure to find the balance in your situation because you're the only one who can see it."

Does this depression thing ever go away?

I'm going to go ahead and apologize in advance for the meandering nature of this post. My brain is all over the place, so you'll have to bear with me. And also, I'm putting a trigger warning on here for discussion of suicide, just in case. :)

In a previous post, I discussed a pretty harsh battle with depression that I dealt with last year. Reading back through it, I realize that I've come a long way, both in terms of figuring out what depression actually is for me and in terms of how it affected and still affects me. It's odd to read a post that I'd written and think, "Wow, I had no idea what I was talking about." This is not to remove any truth from it; what I'd typed wasn't any less valid. It was just a snapshot of the bigger picture. 

To be completely honest, I think I've always struggled with depression. Perhaps it comes with being an artist, I don't know; I'm not a shrink and I don't pretend to be. But I seem to go through these phases, where I'll be so full of life and ideas that I don't know where to begin with them, and it's exciting, fulfilling. I'm happy. And then the downs come: I won't be able to do anything creative and all I really want to do is curl up in bed, wrapped up in a huddle of pillows and blankets. The self-loathing sets in, and I'll wonder, "Am I any fucking good at anything? At the end of my life, will I have mattered? Probably not." This deep, gut-level feeling of complete emptiness engulfs me, and even as I try to carry on, nothing has meaning. The transition period between the two extremes is the worst, though. This is where I think depression truly lives. My emotions and thoughts exist separately, but my emotions are this curious thing that my conscious self (my thoughts) simply observe and go, "The fuck are you?" But I get exceptionally reflective in a very detached sort of way. I stare into space and focus on trying to who and what I am. I watch the sad episodes of all of my favorite TV shows and try to figure out how to relate to them. 

And then there's the inexplicably juxtaposed part of the "recovery" period: I get ridiculously active. I start new exercise routines (that I give up within a few weeks because I'm bored). I change my hair color or drastically cut my hair. I try to draw or write anything, even if it's absolute shit (and it mostly always is just that). I scour the apartment or house to the point where my fingers bleed. I'm sure that, to some, it looks industrious, but honestly, it's all distraction. All a way for me to circumvent my feelings, whatever they may actually be.

It had been a few days after Malik Benjelloul, the Oscar-winning director of "Searching for Sugar Man," committed suicide in Sweden that I finally heard of his demise, but when I heard about it, I cried. Like, sat down and bawled. I wasn't friends with him and, at that point, hadn't even seen his film, so I didn't really have any real tangible reason to explain my distraught reaction. Thankfully, no one was around, so I could wallow in the misery without any judgments. I read the pieces on him, the interviews of family members and friends all of whom were still trying to sort through the reasons why, despite acknowledging that they'd probably never know, the articles describing his lifelong struggle with depression and also, oddly enough, his sincere and delightful passion that he threw into his art. I felt a kindred. I'm pretty sure I can be painted as someone that no one would even consider has had suicidal thoughts*, and some might say that I'm a very happy, passionate person. It's not necessarily that I'm acting, because when I'm there, oh. I'm THERE. But I also know how to affect it, enough that people wouldn't ever see this sort of post coming. And that's what Mr. Benjelloul got me thinking about: that maybe he had learned to play-act. To keep those he loved in the dark because he cared about them and didn't want them to worry. Or maybe he had gotten so good at doing that that he'd convinced himself up to the point where he couldn't lie to himself anymore. These are obviously speculations, and God knows there are plenty of people who knew him better that have a more nuanced understanding of his actions (although based on a statement from his older brother, that may not be true). This is not to say that I'm suicidal right now. I'm truly not. I'm in that Separate Place, but my mind has been pondering if I could ever actually go in that direction.

In Separate Place, I am watching this lingering sense of guilt that baffles me. I mean, my life has exponentially improved since moving to Louisville. The atmosphere is so much more freeing, so much that I feel limitless. Well, kind of. I KNOW that it is limitless. Three has an awesome job that doesn't exhaust him, so I am able to spend real, quality time with him, taking walks and just talking. There are tons of job prospects, and a bus line, that I didn't have in Crappy Small Town. I have the internet and plenty of places to explore, which sates my wanderlust like you wouldn't believe. At least, it should. And there's a comic store within a five-minute walk from my apartment. All of these things are available to me, and yet, I still am suffering from depression.

Does it ever go away? Will I forever ride the rollercoaster which is apparently my chemical makeup? Or is there some way out? A path for me to follow where I will eventually be okay? Or do I even want to be okay? Maybe the emotional craziness that I experience is the only way I can create. I have absolutely no idea and don't really know where to go from here. I suppose the only thing I can do is just exist right now, let the feelings ebb and flow until I get their natural rhythms and can just float along with them. 

And so it goes, I suppose. 

* Granted, I can't really call them suicidal, as I didn't really want to harm myself or actually die. I just wanted to not be alive for a little while. Do a little reboot and come back without all the nasty viruses or malware that my psychology had placed there. But to a lot of people, that kind of sounds like suicide, so. 

I, like, had an EPIPHANY or some shit.

Those were pretty much my exact words when I woke up in the middle of the night a few days ago. The Husfriend (aka Three) was dead asleep, and I'm pretty sure I scared him when I just popped up from an almost kinda-sleep and started talking to him. Granted, he's used to my idiosyncrasies, particularly right around bedtime, because of course that's when my brain starts to have ideas.

See, I've been on kind of an anti-creative streak recently. Well, that's not entirely true. My creativity has been booming, but it's been a little spastic. I haven't been able to keep myself on track, which has been a problem of mine since childhood. I'm always been bursting at the seams with stories, images, feelings, and it's difficult to maintain any kind of long-term thought process. That makes "The Legion," my short story/novelette/novella series, pretty special, since I seem to keep coming back to it. It's been evolving since I was sixteen, back when Ren Winde was an amnesiac woman who named herself Lace because she liked the way it sounded, and the formerly background characters -  that were basically one-note people that served the sole purpose of being there to witness Ren's actions - are now fully-fledged individuals with stories and ideas and arcs of their own; hell, some of them are even more interesting to me than Ren is.

Anyway, my epiphany. So I was talking to Husfriend, who is the most supportive person I have ever met in my life, about how I felt unfocused, coupled with the irritation that came with that, considering I also wanted to do a comic book based on a really shitty short story* I'd done in addition to finishing up my third novella in "The Legion," plus a bunch of other artsy crap I had floating around in my head. He listened patiently as I bounced from each frantic concept to the next, and when I was finally done and asked, "What the hell do I do??" he looked at me and said, "Well, you have to figure out which one is the most important thing to you."

I gave him this really blank stare and kinda wanted to scream, "Oh, really? That's all I have to do? Why didn't I think of that before??" I decided that probably wasn't the best approach and actually started thinking about it. Maybe I had been trying too hard to file away everything I wanted to do that I hadn't truly considered that simple response. What was the most important one to me? Seriously?

Just earlier that week, I'd gone over to the comic shop that is right down the road (a five minute walk from our apartment, which makes me oh so happy), and I'd met this comic artist, Josh Blaylock, who had started his own publishing company** and talked with him for about thirty minutes about the business. It was pretty amazing and got me re-interested in doing comics again. I'd flirted with the idea several years before and even had a pretty good idea that I'd wanted to make into a limited release sort of thing. Suddenly, the characters I'd created for the short story started to come alive, talking to me in their own voices, and I got excited. Again. I figured that "The Legion" would be there for me, as it always had been. But it just sat there, tugging at my heartstrings.

Okay, I know this sounds weird. From an outside perspective, I appear to be a lunatic. I think I've talked about it before, so I'll sum it up: it's like the characters in whatever story I create become little avatars inside my head and bother me when they don't like what I'm doing. Case in point: Ren was not at all happy that I was leaving her to work on some other project. I just kept hearing this nagging little voice, that was part-me and part-Ren: "Dear God, you're giving up on me again? For fuck's sake, Juj."

Fast forward a few hours to about, oh, 12:30A. I was barely able to sleep, what with all the noise in my head, but I was slowly falling into my REM patterns thankfully. Then suddenly:

"Um, I could be your comic. DUH."

The opening panel flashed in my mind's eye: focused solely upon Ren's intense eyes, like the cover of my novella. And it all just sort of came together.

"THREE, I, like had an EPIPHANY or some shit."

I'm pretty sure that Husfriend was not awake, but I decided that it was probably a good thing that I just sort of talked it out, even if the only entity that was listening to me was a confused bulldog (that cats were disinterested). I mean, I already had the first two stories done; the hard part (story) was already taken care of. All I had to do was draw it!

Over the past couple of days, I've printed out the first story, "A Million More to Go," and started planning how the pages are going to look. I'm pretty sure a few things are going to change, because ART, but I'm actually really pleased with how things are holding up. I haven't decided if this is going to be available for free via the internet, but I'll worry about that bridge when I am forced to cross it.

Until then, I'm going to remain in the excited part of this: I'm drawing and writing at the same time. Wheee!!!

* The fact that I had limited myself to a short story made it really difficult for me to write an actually good story, since, as usual, the world of the short story expanded and it was nearly impossible to narrow the scope.
** He'd worked as a writer and artist for a major company before, so I wasn't all side-eye at him. I bought one of his books, "Mercy Sparx," and got my very own original sketch from him.

Life with Pets: Instincts - A One-Act Play

It is yet another sunny day in New Town, where Three and Juju have just moved. All the cats, Kitkat, Bina, and Bitsy, seem to have adjusted well, and Zola, the bulldog, doesn't much know the difference, except that the floor is now fuzzy and the vacuum cleaner is taken out more often than the Swiffer or broom. JUJU sits at the bar in the kitchen, typing away at her computer, while BINA stares out the Kitty TV (aka Window) at all the non-activity in the apartment complex. ZOLA drinks some water out of her new bucket, and BITSY is scanning the apartment for something to destroy or knock over. 

JUJU: Damn, I need to clean out the shit box. I forgot to do that last night.

She stands up and immediately draws the attention of all the animals present.

ZOLA: Are we going outside? I like outside. I also like treats. And pets. Will any of these happen?
BITSY: Mommy? I knocked over a DVD stack.
BINA: Food?

As Juju lifts the top of the litter box* up, Zola's ears perk up. 

ZOLA: Treats?? I almost never get treats from there!!
JUJU: These are not for you. Go lay down. This goes in the dumpster.
ZOLA: (forlornly) Okay. This Dumpster thing gets all the good treats.
BINA: I would still like food?
BITSY: You are getting rid of my smell? Why??

With each scoop that goes into the trash bag, Bitsy behaves more and more nervous, trying to hop into the litter box.

BITSY: I have to pee.
JUJU: You literally just peed less than thirty minutes ago.
BITSY: Don't care.

Losing interest, Bina saunters back to her entertainment on the Kitty TV, luckily catching a glimpse of an adventurous bird that likes one of the plants that the neighbors hung up outside. Curiosity getting the better of her, KITKAT appears from the bedroom but only sticks her head out enough to where no one is actually aware of her presence. Her pupils dilate and she goes into Huntress Mode.

BITSY: Hurry. I have to pee.
JUJU: God, seriously? Go bother Bina. Or Zola. It doesn't matter which.
BITSY: This is a war you aren't going to win, Mommy.
JUJU: (sighs) I know. But I have to at least act like I'm in control, okay?
BITSY: Seems logical.
KITKAT: (aside, staring at Bitsy) I must bide my time.

With the final kitty glooble, Juju closes the trash bag and places it outside the front door, much to Zola's chagrin. She picks up Bitsy, who is already inside the topless litter box, and places her on top of the coffee table. Disgruntled, Bitsy waits until Juju sprinkles some new litter and a bit of baking soda, and once the human lady is done, she glances in each direction to see if her nemesis is in sight. 

BITSY: Do you see Tyrannical Not-Friend, Mommy?
JUJU: Nope, just go pee. Or poop. Or whatever. Sometimes you just go in there to scratch around.
BITSY: I am a cat. There is no sense to what I do.
JUJU: Agreed.
KITKAT: Soon.

Lowering herself into the shit box, Bitsy proceeds to do her business, occasionally popping her head up to survey her surroundings. Bina is now napping, and Zola has started gnawing on her Nylabone with such glee that even Bitsy wishes she was a dog. Juju is again staring at the computer screen, only now the soundtrack to Buffy the Vampire Slayer's "Once More with Feeling" episode is playing, and Kitkat is still in Huntress Mode, although Bitsy cannot see her (Kitkat is good at this). Bitsy finishes her duties and commences the final ritual: scraping around aimlessly.

JUJU: Bitsy! Scratching the sides does nothing!
BITSY: INSTINCTS.
ZOLA: It is weird that they poop in a box and try to cover it up.
JUJU: You try to cover yours with grass.
ZOLA: That is not the same thing. Nomnomnom Nylabone.
KITKAT: So. Close.

Bitsy sticks her head out, pleased with her Shit Box Adventure, and puts her paws on the lid, readying herself to leap out.

KITKAT: NOW!!!!!

Upon seeing Kitkat launching at her, Bitsy lets out a terrified wail, causing Juju, Bina, and Zola to jump, and Bitsy flies out of the litter box, tossing litter in every which direction.

BITSY: TYRANNICAL NOT-FRIEND!! FLEEEEEEE!!

Because the apartment is much smaller than the house in Small Town, Bitsy has fewer places to escape, so she scrambles to reach Juju's lap. She sinks her claws into Juju's thighs.

JUJU: OW! Dear God, you two! KITAT.

Kitkat recognizes both the tone in Juju's voice and the irate expression on her face.

KITKAT: (shrugs) Instincts.

Juju goes to fetch the broom, the Swiffer, and the vacuum cleaner, grumbling the whole way.

The End.

* Juju bought a top-loading litter box, which is awesome because a) Zola can't eat shit/kitty treats, b) the kitties seem to like the privacy, and c) there is SO MUCH less litter on the floor. Usually.

AND INTERNET SHALL BE HAD

Okay, seriously, I always forget how much the internet is a part of my life. I've been relying on a data plan, which, yuck, and sometimes the reception in Mine and Husfriend's apartment is ... spotty at best. But I am in luck. On Tuesday, Ye Olde Internette wilt be mine again*, and the world will rejoice.

Well, I will, at least.

Peace, loves. :)

* You have to say it "a-gay-n" in order for this to work.

Just in case anyone was wondering ...

I don't have internet right now and won't for another couple of days. Plus, my wifi connection sucks. Le sigh. BUT. I'll be back and rearing to go soon. Be prepared.