Wednesday, 1 October 2008

Kitteh Blogging - the inferior acquaintance of baby blogging

Now, when we chose this here kitteh, we were assured that she was used to adults, children and other non-human animals, and would happily play and socialise with an organism that fitted in any of those categories. However, we’ve hit upon a problem – she’s decidedly not used to computers.

She goes absolutely mental whenever there’s a screen in front of her, with its moving cursor or scroll bar - jumping up and down on the keyboard with all four feet, attacking the screen with claws and teeth and, in fact, making a decent effort to eat the whole thing. She can’t be dissuaded – the only thing to do is to shut her in another room, which feels mean as she’s only a baby.

Hagrid is a professional computer nerd, who spends a decent chunk of his time working from home. Is this an insurmountable problem, the only solution to which is the hire of a small child to amuse her while we work?

Also, she feels the need to tell me whenever she makes use of the litter tray – not just half-heartedly, either. I’m meowed at and bitten for as long as it takes to get me to view the poo. I just have to see it for her to be gleefully happy again.

Is that normal feline behaviour?

As you can tell, I’m at home with the kitteh. I’m also so ill that it’s an immense effort just to get up for the Viewing of the Excrement, and as for cleaning it out… bending down makes me very dizzy.

Also, I thought I’d sorted out an issue of mine, of the sort with a capital I… but, it seems, I haven’t. I think I’ll take some preventative measures to stop me from going so utterly mental again. To the outside observer, they’ll be both hilarious and peculiar – but, sadly, I can’t tell y’all what they’ll be.

OK then, imagine that I’m the bloke that went on Trisha with his phobia of scotch eggs (yes, he did). No, say it was only a phobia of a particular brand of scotch eggs, made in minuscule quantities in a Northern Scottish cottage industry. A scotch egg of this brand tastes much better than the average supermarket fare. It is more pleasing to the eye, the palate and the soul.

Would it be fair for me to ask my friends not to eat them, to avoid triggering me? (I know “trigger” shouldn’t be used lightly, but say that I have, like most people, had experiences to which the concept “should” apply, but I’m still affected more by the eggs). Do I ask them to stick to Tesco’s Finest or M&S for their daily proteiny goodness? Or is that entirely unfair? Does it matter, if they’re unlikely ever to travel to the single town in the North of Scotland wherein those particular, terrifying eggs are available?

I have a serious case of Analogy Fail, here – but it’s intentional, so that no-one has any idea what I’m talking about. As usual, haha. Give me your answers.

I was actually around several other trans guys / female genderqueers on Friday. It was weird, like looking in several mirrors at once – though the binary trans guys had all obviously gone through transition the “regular” way, living as butch dykes beforehand, and ending up straight guys rather than, say, *giant fairies*.

There are supposed to be the same number of trans people, of every variety, in the world as there are French people (so says my little book on the subject, though I’m sure that’s a conservative estimate). The problem is, if you’re French, you can take a wild guess as to the location of another French person – and, y’know, it’s not common for French people to deny, and hide, that they are French, “Cette baguette? Il n’est pas ma baguette! Je les dĂ©teste! J’adore le pain grillĂ©! Est je ne sais pas pourquoi la baguette est dans mon pantalon!” (that’s an FtM in denial about his nation, see? But he’s speaking Franglais, because it’s a while since I applied myself to irregular verbs etc.).

And whatever the reason, you do tend to see more trans women / male genderqueers out and about.

So, anyway, it was nice to be in a space where a lot of people looked like me.

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