I was unable to fall asleep before something like 9 a.m., partly because I was talking about sex on Snark and partly because I was worried about my kitten.

Once I got up, I had to call the vet about a hundred times because the line was always busy. I finally was able to go.

Beatrice is not exactly at her full adult size yet, but she still is rather heavy to carry in her cage. My arms were tired and my hands are irritated from holding the cage. It was also really hot too, so I got rather tired.

The vet examinated her and asked some questions, mostly things I had already observed and been reassured by their good state (e.g. she ate and didn’t vomit).

He found that she wasn’t injured, except some minor scratches around her nose and mouth. It’s nothing more serious than, say, the injury you could get from falling off in roller skates.

The evaluation cost $45 CAN. FORTY FIVE? That hurt more than the accident.

Beatrice is right by now. She moves from one box to another to find some place to sleep. She tried the recycling box, then a red plastic box, now she’s in yet another…she’s cute.

Rambling rocks.

I live in a two-floor apartment. The bottom-most one is on the second floor of the building (and the other one on the third floor, of course).

Leading to the backyard is what is called an “emergency staircase”: a very tiny metal, sweeping staircase which is guaranteed to kill you if you run down it while there is fire. This staircase allows us to reach a long but not large gallery which a glassed door* separates from our apartment. The stairs, however, also continue up to a small balcony upstairs. From the upstairs bathroom of my apartment, I can theoretically take the exit on this balcony and walk down the stairs in case of an emergency. Of course, this means passing through an extremely small window, which is located rather high up the wall.

I have a very cute kitten (with thumbs!) who will be 1 year old in August, around the same time as my 19th birthday. She’s very easily scared and will let pretty much nobody but myself approach her. However, of course, she’s also a kitten, so she’s curious and likes to explore.

I somehow had the idea of letting her go outside. At first, I watched her closely. I didn’t want her to wander too far off and I know she could get scared if someone came or something like that. So I sat there with her. However, it was pretty hot outside, so I came back inside and let her alone, leaving the door open so she could come back in if she felt like it. That was really stupid of me.

She’s thin enough to pass through the bars of the gallery. From there, she could jump on the roof of a shed just below, and access the neighbor’s gallery (in the same block as I live). I went to get her there (lots of pretty plants to take a shit in), but I decided to let her climb up the stairs on her own.

I thought that, well, if wandering around and smelling things is all that interests her, I could as well return inside and watch her climb the second part of the stairs. I thought ‘Hey, it would be cool if I waited for her in the bathroom upstairs and let her in through the window. She’d think it’s so cool to climb up from outdoors like that.’

So, because I lack stupid acts in my life, I went indoors and watched her climb up. She reached some of the top steps…and then she was the one to do something stupid. Instead of climbing up the rest of the stairs and coming to me, she jumped onto the gallery’s roof. It’s inclined, so she had a hard time holding on to it and meowed her throat out. I was glad I hadn’t cut off her claws, as she could cling to the roof. Of course, she was in a rather panicking state. She would see me through the window and couldn’t quite figure out how to make it to the other side.

She was under the balcony, so she couldn’t just dissolve to pass through the bars (she could pass through the handrail bars, but not through the tiny bars that form the floor). I thought up of two ways she could have been safe. First, she could have kept moving to the left and climbed up onto the balcony, but that was dangerous, scary and hard to explain to a kitty. So I went with trying the second option. I went into the stairs and started calling her out. I was a bit panicking, but I know she was hearing me, and I’m quite sure she was only longing to get off of there. But she was also scared and couldn’t control her movements quite well. She would sometimes slip off a little, and always return as high as possible. She never really seemed to be moving towards me.

I didn’t really know what else to do, so I just kept calling her, in the hope that she would understand. She could easily have jumped onto me. She would have clung her claws into my skin, but it would have been much more relaxing than what happened next.

She fell off the roof. She made a two-floor fall onto cement.

I cried out as she fell. I never cried out but I was so scared for her!

I ran to get her, she was so scared. She ran and jumped onto the nearest window she found. I brought her back in and checked whether she was hurt. Her legs seem okay, but a few minutes ago I noticed she got blood under her nose. Even if she had had nothing, I would have taken her to the vet tomorrow, but now I feel even more as it is my duty.

I feel so stupid for letting her out there without watching her…

*a “patio door” in Quebec, I am not sure of the English name. They are large doors made only of glass (and plastic to hold the glass…).

Edit. I’m placing “Heather Locklear” on my list of spam words for the moment because I keep getting spam referring to her. So if for some reason you think that Heather Lockler has anything to do with my blog and want to tell me about her, find some way to get around the spam blocker (by spacing out her name, for example).

Life sucks.

I have decided to blackout certain words in comments. This means that, if you enter said words, your comment will be refused entirely, without being put into moderation. This might sound harsh but, considering I get pretty much no real comments and a large amount of spam, I think it’s going to save me the hassle of having to delete them all.

I’ll play the parrot a little: I have to upload the new version of this site…It’s fully ready, entirely coded and organized, I only need to make a Wordpress stylesheet that will work along with it, which shouldn’t take long at all.

Insomnia has gotten me again. I wake up after only four to six hours of sleep and, although I am still tired, I need several hours before being able to sleep again.

I’ve been cleaning off some music from my computer. I only have 25GB of space left and want to clear up some space. I have deleted all Good Charlotte songs. I used to be totally in love with the group but, damn it, they suck. I hate the singer’s voice, I hate the music, I hate their lyrics. I also deleted Fall Out Boys songs. I had discovered them after Good Charlotte and had thought they were a good band but my taste has changed—evolved, I feel like saying. I also deleted rap songs from my “OMG I’m totally gonna love rap!” phase. Good riddance.

That said, I have the entire discography of Green Day, Nightwish and Evanescence as of now. Listening to Green Day has only confirmed my previous opinion: their old music was so much better than their American Idiot album. I do like the latter; there are some good songs, like Boulevard of Broken Dreams, but their previous albums sound better to me. I also hate Billie Joe’s bloody eyeliner. I hate when guys wear eyeliner. Above all when I actually like the guy. Long live eyeliner-less Billie Joe.

I’m currently listening to Frank Zappa, which I believe is my first time. I quite like it.

I hate Montreal more and more. First of all, it stinks. It’s a big city with no trees (almost) and too much bloody traffic. Then, the drivers are crazy. Being on foot in this city is one of the most dangerous things you can do on this planet. Fortunately they can’t (legally) turn right when the red light is on. Of course, some of them still do, but the fact that they aren’t supposed to surely saves a million lives a year because Montreal drivers are crazy like that.

Also, it’s too hot. A weather that should normally be quite comfortable becomes unbearable because of the lack of nature and the overwhelming presence of cement and other fun gray stuff.

The buses can be so goddamn full at times, too. They’ll pass something like very 20 minutes in some areas, at some hours, but when they will finally arrive, there’s going to be a mile-long line. People line up to wait for buses in Montreal.

Fortunately, there are some cool things. There’s my boyfriend, whom everyone knows to be amazing. There’s his best friend…Let’s not talk about it, I’ll sound…err…whatever. There’s the Old Montreal, or more particularly the Old Harbor (Vieux Port de Montréal), which is a nice area. I love taking walks there: there are plenty of trees, fountains, and the actual Saint-Laurent River.

Did you know there are two words for “river” in French? A “fleuve” is for rivers that reach the ocean or the sea (like the Saint-Laurent River, the Amazon, the Seine in France, the Nile); a “rivière” is for any other rivers (those that throw themselves into “fleuves”, lakes or anything else).

I’m hungry, but I want neither to wake up my boyfriend nor to face up his mother. She just makes me too awkward, to the point where I never actually feel welcome in her home (a very small apartment in an ugly area of Montreal).

This reminds me that I have never spoken of this place, although I have often thought of doing so. It is called Pierrefonds-Roxboro. It is far (and I really mean far) in the west of the island. To go there, I must first take one line of subway. After three stations, I must change line and go to the very end of said line. This already can take over 30 minutes, depending on how long the transfer can take. Then, I have to take a bus until the end of its path. This is also bloody long, and I often have to wait for the bus to arrive, which can take 10 minutes and more, according to my (lack of) luck. Once I’m at the end of this very long line, I have to take yet another bus for quite some time. I then end up at the other end of the world, in a poor area inhabited in majority by Haitian immigrants. I have nothing against Haitian immigrants, I have something against the look and feel of the place. It is isolated, poor looking, and rather ugly and dirty. The apartment is very small and crammed with furniture full of books, compact discs and movies. It is also quite noisy, as you can always hear the neighboors. When they are in the stairway, you can hear every single word they say perfectly.

I have read over one third of Jane Eyre up to now. I quite like it, although some passages are getting quite long, mostly those that describe what I call “social conventions”: how visitors behave, how Jane encounters them, etc. And I’m looking forward for her to finally “do something” with Mr. Rochester apart from talking to him. I also hate that someone annotated the book with a pencil (fortunately I can erase it). I have gotten a couple of spoilers this way. There are also some things I don’t quite get and the person obviously had to read this for an English class, but his/her native language was French. Sometimes, the person will alternate between the two languages. S/he will also make some mistakes like “jalousy” or “jalous” (French “jalousie” and “jaloux/jalouse”).

I have joined Listal (my username is Puceron. The nickname isn’t actually mine, but I have made it up. I have the cutest kitten ever. Her name is Béatrice (and she’s got thumbs). It is common in French (at least in Quebec) to nickname your daughter or pet “Puce” (literally, “flea”). My brother-in-law would call her that. I think I might have called her so a couple of times but, after a few days, I started lengthening it to call her “Puceron”. In French, it can sound cute. In English, however, a “puceron” is an aphid (greenfly, plant lice, blackfly), which I must say is one of the ugliest words ever. As I said, though, my kitten is cute. I have to post pictures of her one day.