It was like the Anti-Berkeley. Bizarro Berkeley. Because Berkeley is like the Bike Theft Capital of the World. I told Shannon, "It was like visiting Mayberry." I'm sure a barefoot Opie just leaned his bike against the soda fountain when he popped in for an egg cream.
In other totally unrelated news, tonight Shannon was giving the cats their evening wet food, and he was giving them the refrigerated half of a can that had been partially doled out yesterday. They never like the food as well after it's been refrigerated, and so Shannon started singing this song:
Day-old ... Dayyyyy-old!
Day-old food and you won't wanna eat it!
Day-old ... say Dayyyy-old!
Day-old food and you'll just walk away!
Unfortunately, he didn't know any of the other lyrics to the original song, but I kindly sang some more for him ("Come, Mr. Tally Man, tally me bananas," etc.), and he made up cat food-related lyrics for those bits, too. He does this kind of thing ALL the time, and it always cracks me up.
I, on the other hand, have found myself singing a completely different cat-related song lately, as Munchkin (in her crochety old age) has become extremely loud, complaining noisily any time anyone moves, speaks too loudly, doesn't give her a treat when she expects it, or just generally does even the slightest thing she doesn't like. This is particularly apparent when we go to bed, as she invariably climbs up onto the bed before we have settled fully for the night, and so she yells at us every time we move to get comfortable. This has led me to sing quite often lately my own song: "Yelly Cat," sung to the tune of Phoebe's "Smelly Cat" on "Friends." Shannon has never heard the original, though, so he doesn't appreciate my revised rendition.
Shannon insisted several months ago that he had read somewhere (probably on the Internet, so you know it must be true) that cats like singing. Ours, however, often seem distressed by his impromptu serenades. Lucy, in particular, tends to put her ears back and sometimes runs away in what appears to be abject fear. Shannon doesn't let this stop him, however, and he sings to them pretty much every day. Poor traumatized, melophobic felines!
In other other news, to explain my mood icon, my back is hurting, which has become all-too-common lately. It makes me feel old, like I should walk around hunched over a cane. What's that poem? "When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple"? Maybe I should wear purple tomorrow.
Or maybe I should just wear my trouser bottoms rolled. Do I dare to eat a peach? In the room, the fishes come and go, vaster than empires and more slow, as they say. Um ... never mind.