katrimae

I'm a bat killer! Okay, technically I'm a bat wounder and trapper. But I like to think of myself as a far more lethal person than I probably am.

Here's what I learned tonight:

1. A tiny bat can make a huge racket in an enclosed space.
2. My cats are absolutely worthless hunters.
3. A rolled-up yoga mat is a surprisingly effective weapon.
4. Good thing: trapping a wounded bat in a closet. Bad thing: knocking down the curtains and emptying two closets before figuring out the bat is in the third closet.
5. Seriously, the cats? Terrible hunters. They just sat there and watched the damn bat dive-bombing me like they were watching the end of "King Kong."
6. A police officer won't necessarily be impressed that I managed to wound and trap the bat before I lost my nerve and called for help, but he will be moderately amused, even at 2:30 in the morning. (He brought in a tennis racket to kill the bat so he appreciated my yoga mat technique.)
7. He couldn't find the bat at first and I had visions of him going back to the station rolling his eyes at the crazy lady who was imaging things - but then he found it clinging for dear life to an old blazer (which I haven't worn in at least ten years and now I know for a fact that I'll never wear it again) and knocked it off and tennis-racketed it into Bat Heaven.
8. Buford is trying to make up for his wimpiness by pouncing on Ruby again and again - "Look! I'm tough, really!" (And if I didn't believe in rabies shots already, I'd definitely be a convert. I have no reason to believe the bat got near either cat, but this is why even indoor kitties need their rabies shots!) He's alternating between pouncing on his sister and staring attentively at the curtains here in the living room - I've got the fan on so they're moving in the breeze, and I figure Buford is On The Job making sure they don't spawn any more flying critters.
9. In the next week or so, if you happen to hear anyone mentioning that they picked up a really nice blue lady's blazer at Goodwill, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
10. There's a pretty good chance I'll be sleeping downstairs, at least for a few days until I regain my nerve.

I'm taking the morning off work - I need to get my bedroom back in order and cram stuff back in closets and, frankly, I'm running on an adrenaline rush and about three hours of sleep. I'll go in at noon and work my afternoon desk shift and accept the mockery of my co-workers... after all, when one had a bat last year, I gave her several varieties of crap. I guess it's my turn.

 If I wanted to live in a rain forest, I'd have moved to Costa Rica.

So about the heat wave. It's going to be in the mid to upper 90s through Sunday, with correspondingly high humidity.  Unlike most of the country our rainfall has been at or above average rates, so everything is moist. It's great for the corn; people, not so much.

I know, I know... first world problems. I'm blessed with central air, both at home and work. I can show up to work in  capris and a t-shirt or even a tank top; the director doesn't mind because that's basically her summer wardrobe.  All the same, I hate this wilty feeling. I can't sleep well in recycled air, but I can't even contemplate opening windows at night unless I want to squeegee moisture off the walls. I have two dehumidifiers running nonstop, and they need to be emptied around three times a day. I've reconciled myself to living on cold cereal, sandwiches, salad and popsicles for the next week because the thought of generating any kind of heat in the kitchen is intolerable. Even the cats, who spend all day in air conditioned comfort (I even put ice cubes in their water dishes), are beginning to resemble something out of "The Persistence of Memory" - they plod around the house before draping themselves awkwardly over anyplace they might catch an extra breeze.  I know how they feel.

Whiiiiine.

Going back through the mists of time...  Three years ago my neighborhood (along with a big chunk of the town, for that matter), got flooded out. A lot of houses were marked for demolition either because of damage or because they're in the newly drawn flood plain.  Well, here it is three years later and while a lot of houses have come down, there are about a hundred still standing. With a population of around 28,000, that's a big chunk of the town indeed.

Now, my house is included in the buyout list: this means that the city buys the property from the owners. If it's a residence then the owner gets the money free and clear, but if it's a rental property (as mine is), the renter also gets a settlement out of that.  I was told that I should be ready to move "any time now" about three months after the flood (although "any time now" includes a mandatory 90 day notice so I have time to find a new place). And that was the last official notification I had about moving.

I finally found out what's going on. My landlord (also my neighbor, but his house is set on a slope about 6 feet higher than mine so his place wasn't as damaged and is out of the flood plain) wants to sell my house. However, he owns it with his brother and the brother wants to hold out until the very last minute, because he's convinced that if they wait the city will throw extra money at them just to close the deal.

But wait, there's more! Their sister works for the city. In fact, she's in one of the departments that handles buyout properties, and she's told her brothers that there can't even be an appearance that they're getting a higher price or preferential treatment because of her position.  So what's happening is, I'm caught up in a combination of a family tiff and the usual slow grind of bureaucracy.  All I can do now is wait for things to shake out but the whole process could drag on until November 2012, the end date for the whole program. The bright side, of course, is that I've had such a long time to deal with this that I've squirreled away enough money for moving expenses that when I get the call, I won't have to dip into my regular savings to deal with this. The non-bright side is I want this over with, one way or the other!

I also learned that when my house eventually goes down, because the property butts right against the river it might be converted into a tiny little park / community garden plot. This pleases me.

Now I can say with a straight face that I've started my spring cleaning. I'm not claiming to have gotten very far, mind you, but I've gone over every window that can be opened to get the screens cleaned off and the windowsills wiped down, so now everything is wide open and I'm getting a good strong breeze going through the entire house to freshen the air in here. It's going to be close to 70 today and very windy, so it should smell a lot less stale in here by evening. I also got the winter detritus raked out of the flowerbeds so I guess I'm further along than I thought.

( More fun and games at the Temple of Knowledge. )

So the second guy I dealt with yesterday evening? The one who was bragging on the phone how if the police had been looking for him, he would have fought back and broken someone's leg?

As previously mentioned (along with the disclaimer that I'm not proud of this, I know it's tacky and intrusive and etc.), part of my morning routine is, once I go online to check my email, I log onto the sheriff's website to check the new jail population... and do I need to make you guess who the newest inmate was? Yes, Mr. Cussy was picked up a few hours after he left the library for hitting another car and leaving the scene of the accident. as well as for (wait for it) several outstanding burglary warrants.

I feel vindicated. Petty and small-minded as well, but mainly vindicated.

I turned on the TV this morning to check the weather, and when I saw it was -4 my immediate reaction was, "Oh, boy, it's a lot warmer than yesterday!" It's been cold. And by cold I mean it's been so cold for so long that I can't think of any clever metaphors for how damn cold it's been.  It's cold.

As for other news: A while back there was an incident at the library.  A man and a woman, partners, got into a fairly violent fight. It was on the other end of the building so by the time anyone bothered to call me (I was the supervisor on duty), he had stormed off and she was getting ready to leave.  (Yes, I had a little talk with my co-workers about calling the police first, the supervisor next -- you do not just sit and watch a fight and dither about what to do! There were even patrons coming up and telling them that maybe they should call the cops.)  The woman was shaking and crying and I sat with her for a few minutes, trying to convince her to go to the police. She was telling me about the fight and... oh, man. It was like there second or third fight that day, and he'd beat the crap out of her the day before: she even pulled up her shirt to show me the bite marks on her stomach.  Okay, fine, that's when I think, "I don't care what she wants, I'm calling the cops now." But then her friend came and she got up and swore she was going right to the police station, and they left.  I wrote up an incident report (and yeah, I talked to the police about it but since I hadn't witnessed it and nothing was on the videotape, they couldn't do anything unless the woman reported it). I told my co-workers who'd seen it that they might be called about witness reports, so they should write down exactly what they saw and heard.

And that was it.  I figured that she never reported it, and she was going to keep on putting up with the beatings.  Well, this morning I went online to see the current jail report (it's tacky, and it's invasive, but I do like to see how many of the library's Usual Suspects get picked up every night)... and there his mugshot was. He's in jail for serious domestic assault with no bail. And I can't say I'm happy about it. He's in jail, and she probably got beat up even worse. But at least he's finally facing some kind of justice for it.

Finally, what's the protocol for when one discovers that a sister with whom one has a troubled but improving relationship has made one the beneficiary of her life insurance policy? I mean, do I have to send flowers or something?

One of my co-workers is a single parent; her daughter is fourteen now and I've known the kid for a big chunk of her life -- I just realized it's half her life.  I like this kid.  Her mom and I are friends and we socialize outside work, and the kid spends a lot of time hanging out at the library.  This is (and Constant Readers will know that I don't use these words lightly) a Good Kid.

She's also showing signs of turning into a pretty damn good artist so I decided to get her a Christmas gift this year; her mom said that she was just learning how to use pastels so I got her a big-ass box with umpteen colors, along with a sketchbook.  I figured she'd be in after school since we're a block from her bus stop and on her way home, so I gave her the gift (because I say 'feh' to delayed gratification) and she was thrilled and she hugged me and told me I was the best fake aunt in the world. I gave her mom a look, and she laughed and said, "Yeah, you know my family is a little dysfunctional... H. always says that she wishes you were her aunt."  I didn't get sniffly until I was in the car because that's the nicest thing anyone's told me in ages, and I needed to hear something nice today.

Let's cut to the chase: he seems to be fine now. All the same, I spent a few days worrying that I would lose Buford. Also, details not for the squeamish.

( Kitty health saga )

So, knock on wood, Buford will get a clean bill of health when he sees the vet again. I wasn't counting on vet bills this month (especially not an emergency visit bill), but I'd much rather be a little broke than skip the vet and then find out that I really, really shouldn't have.

 The library has a really kickass collection of framed letters and autographs from famous literary figures, mainly British and American. We're working on putting together information on all of them, including anything we know about the recipients.

I don't work with anyone who'll respond with anything but a vague "Oh, that's interesting," so let me share this: I've established that our Samuel Johnson letter was probably (I'd give it a 90% certainty) written to Hester Thrale and our Oscar Wilde letter might have been (I'll say 75% likely) written to Robbie Ross.  The Charlotte Bronte letter was written to a Mrs. Gaskell; I dearly hope it was Mary, but I'm still trying to cross reference dates.

 I'm all alone in the temporary Archives site today. The Historian is on vacation and since school is over, all the teachers are gone and the building is locked up snug and secure. I decided to take advantage of the solitude to do a little winnowing before we move back to the library in a few months.

Here's the thing. We have a shelf full of biography binders. The purpose is to photocopy articles or obituaries of notable local (repeat, LOCAL) people so if someone wants quick information on, say, JoJo Blokes, City Administrator from 1955, we can pull down the B binder and flip to "Blokes" aaaand we're done!  Now, Constant Readers may remember that over the years I've frequently ranted about a co-worker I call The Git because his... well, gittiness? gittitude? knows no bounds. A few years ago he declared that he was taking over maintaining the binders and what the hell, The Historian and I didn't see how he could mess them up so we let him take over.

You know how you can have a teeny little mold stain in a dark corner of the basement? You look at it and think, "That's not too bad, one expects a little mold in basement corners. I'll just keep an eye on it." Then five years later, BAM. You happen to glance in the corner and the mold stain is as big as a hippo's head.  The binder collection is now a hippo's head. The Historian and I have both griped on occasion that it was getting hard to find useful information, and why was that article in there, and we should probably go through these.

I was looking for some information on Monday, just an obituary.  I found a series of articles about a local political squabble and I thought, "Hmm, that shouldn't be in here." I'll cut to the chase. The Git had photocopied every single article on the controversy and filed copies under this person's entry because at one -- one! -- city council meeting, he'd stood up and taken a stand. His name was in no other articles in the series. I had one of those nasty sinking feelings, so I looked for the name of someone else who'd spoken at the meeting and I looked in another binder. Yep. The exact same series of articles.

So I started going through all of the binders. Even some perfectly valid and properly filed articles have unnecessary copies.  Then there's the crap.  The Git made photocopies of newspaper ads for the Gene Autry Show, because it aired on the local radio station, and filed them under "Autry."  There was an article about how Pearl Buck chose her pseudonym because there was a paragraph at the end about which of her books were at the library.  An article about fundraising for a new police dog was under "D" for "Deputy Dog."  Famous person was in town for three hours to give a speech? He copied the articles AND Wikipedia or other outside websites about the person. There are dozens of letters to the editor, filed under each writer's name, about whether Bush was a war criminal or whether Christmas is a pagan holiday or what have you, just things that he thought were interesting. An article about a woman from Waterloo who won a transgender beauty contest in Thailand. WE DON'T LIVE IN WATERLOO.  I just reached my breaking point. The Git copied an article about attempts to reintroduce bald eagles to the area and filed it under "E" for "Eagle, Bald."

I've been pulling all the non-biographical articles and setting them aside. There's actually some useful stuff in there but it belongs properly filed under Sports, or Communications, or whatever. I mean, if someone is looking for the history of local cable TV we're not going to look under the name of the general manager of the first company in town.  I'm setting everything aside so The Historian can go through it to find out what his criteria are for "re-file" or "recycle". I'm only as far as "E" but I've already pulled out a good ream's worth of paper.  It's a good thing I've got the place to myself because I keep finding myself flinging my hands up and saying "Are you fucking kidding me?"