M. Giant's
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks

Monday, October 27, 2003  

They Won’t Miss You if You Don’t Go Away.

Radio scripts for the show have a simple format. Each participant’s line is preceded by their initials; thus, Sue Scott is SS, Tim Russell is TR, Tom Keith is TK, and GK is my boss. If there’s a special character voice called for, then that’s specified in parentheses after the actor’s initials.

Just in case you ever wonder if I’ve stopped appreciating my job, let me point out a few differences between it and my old job.

At my old job, if I was very, very lucky, I might get to write something like “In order to calculate the aggregate average speed of answer for a range of clients, multiply each client’s number of calls by each clients ASA. Add up the sum of all of these calculations, and divide the final amount by the total number of calls overall.”

Now I get to write things like this:

TR (ODIN): Ow! My eye!

It didn’t get on the show, but just getting paid to write things like that is the coolest thing about my job. Don’t think I don’t know how lucky I am.

* * *

The cats used to punish us whenever we went away for any length of time. We’d go on vacation for a week, or for a few days, or we’d go to work, and we wouldn’t hear the end of it for quite some time. We’d get home and be roundly ignored. You’d be amazed at how many ways a creature with a brain the size of a walnut can think of to walk away from you, all of them featuring a contemptuous display of anus. We’d come into a room and they’d walk away, and then they’d come back just so they could walk away again. The message was loud and clear. The message was “You wanna leave? Fine. I don’t need your neglectful ass anyway. Pardon me while I pee in your suitcase again.”

I think this may have been the result of some kind of deep-seated insecurity on their part. Strat was a stray when he came to live with us, and Orca came from the pet store, so it’s understandable that it took some time for them to realize that their abandonment issues don’t have to apply to us.

That time is over.

Sunday, October 19. 8:30 p.m. I’m back from Austin. Trash is back from Milwaukee. Banana has come over to feed the cats in our absence, so one can not attribute to starvation the following reaction:

“YOU’RE HOME! Let’s snuggle!”

It’s nice that the cats are now secure enough with their place in the universe that they know we’re coming back. It’s just a question of when. And how much snuggling there’ll be to catch up on.

“Look! Look! We’re over here! On the bed! Waiting for you! Look how cute we are! We’re already purring!”

It’s encouraging to get such a clear signal that we’re good cat parents. When we’re gone, they not only notice, but they miss us. I mean, they’re cats and not dogs, so they’re not totally uncool about it. They don’t leap up to our chests and lick our faces as if we’ve just saved their lives. They’re just a lot more into the ear-scritching than normal. Strat, who’s normally satisfied with spending fifteen minutes at bedtime occupying a position on my chest behind the book I’m reading, prefers to welcome me home by running his motor for an hour or so on my neck, between my face and the book. Orca, who is more closely bonded with Trash, forcefully head-butts Trash’s hand, in a clear “LOVE ME! LOVE ME NOW!” demonstration. This is especially helpful when the hand in question is resting on her computer mouse.

Yes, our cats love us. And I’m telling everyone so they can be embarrassed. It seems like the least they can expect after peeing in our luggage.

Today’s best search phrase: “Velcrometer search phrase contest steal idea.” You talkin’ to me? Are you talkin’ to me???

posted by M. Giant 2:46 PM 0 comments


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