Mischief Update: Is “Mischief” an Event at the Olympics? (part I)

Because if it is, I could definitely medal in the 400-meter Naughty.

Hmm.  Where to start?  You know how I’ve been helping with the quilting, but so much else has been going on.  I could begin with how I’ve arranged it so that the human female’s milk never comes out even.  There’s always not quite enough for the cereal that’s in the bowl, or else there is too much, necessitating more cereal, iterum atque iterum.  I also make sure that when it’s shopping day, she’s not close to running out, and there isn’t room in the fridge for a new jug.  Midweek, however, the old lot is going off and it’s time to buy more.

The first summer semester at the university ended not with a bang, but with a whimper from the human female when one of the teaching assistants failed to show up to administer a laboratory final.  Cue scurrying of the human female and all her techs to set up the practical, check it, administer it to the confused undergrads, and call anyone who might possibly know where the missing TA was.  He was finally located unharmed–he and I had merely gone out to breakfast and lost track of time.   This was, unfortunately, the last demerit and/or  the last straw, and the TA was relieved of his teaching position for the second summer session.  This necessitated finding a substitute at the last moment, one who was not actually in the country and who could not get back until the second week of class.  The human female is getting grayer and grayer at an alarming rate.

The car is not helping.  You recall the results of my community activism project?  I had mentioned that sixty citizens participated in glass-sweeping festivities.  I underestimated my impact!  Seventy windshields were enrolled in the program that night, and seven others since then.  The human female had hers replaced in short order.  Then she discovered that her rear heads-up brake light and rear windshield squirter were not working, so the car got to make a second trip to the shop.  (Keep in mind that every trip requires a chase vehicle to ferry her away and a ride back to the shop later to pick up the vehicle.)  The good people of Almost Right Auto Glass repaired the brake light (broken bulb, no doubt sustained as the brake light was dangling and banging on the first trip in for repairs) but were unable to induce the squirters to squirt.  The human female was instructed to bring the vehicle back the next day, when more knowledgeable help would be available.  Alas! Available, but unable to avail.  Third time was NOT the charm, and the car has an appointment with the dealer.  In the meantime, the car has that fpppppy rattle that indicates oak leaves sucked into the air system.  We all know where that leads…

Which reminds me–oak leaves!  The human female can thank me, because there will be fewer to rake this fall.  I have manipulated heat, drought, and spotty irrigation to ensure that one of her large, mature post oaks has completed its slow and painful decline.  It must needs come down in a controlled fashion lest it topple in an uncontrolled manner and create a pleasant but inconvenient skylight in the dining room or the garage.  Or turn the human female’s car (which sits in the driveway) into a loaf of split-top bread.  Ehehehehe!  This is not going to be cheap, because it is tall, branchy, and surrounded by saplings and a very breakable wooden fence. The humans have dithered and piddled, getting various estimates and trying to decide whether to have it removed entirely or to leave a branchless pole that could not strike the house but which might serve as habitat for wildlife.  I believe they have finally decided upon total removal, so now I’ve made sure that the tree service can’t schedule them for two weeks or more.  I wonder if I could kick up a good windstorm between now and then?  Because who doesn’t want MORE reasons to talk to the insurance people?

The human female took a Famous Spreadsheet Program class at work, to try to learn more about the arcane workbooks and formulae that are used to crunch all the student grade numbers.  Like the suck-up teacher’s pet she is, she sat right in the front row.  That meant, when I pulled the fire alarm, she was one of the first out the door.  Eventually, the class was allowed back in, but they were then running behind, which meant the rapid-pattering and slightly disorganized instructor had even less time to skip around in the notes and discuss topics that weren’t on the agenda.  During the second day, it dawned on the human female that a) I’d tampered with her watch so that she was tardy; b) the instructor was dyslexic, so his instructions to “right” click or move to the “left” of the screen were 43% suspect; and c) she is too old and too slow to have any business being a student of anything.

And then there’s…. No, you know what?  I’m getting a cramp, typing so much. I’ve been so mischievous that this update is going to have to come in two parts!  I think that’s a first!  Definitely a 10!

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