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THE MILK INCIDENT: A STATEMENT

posted by MISA ✿ 4:47 PM ✿ mood: vindicated ✿ eating: not currently, no

Misa trotting up a garden path in golden light, carrying a torn-open Organic Valley milk carton sideways in her mouth — The alleged carton. I found it like this.

I would like to address the rumours circulating in this household.

Yes, that is me. Yes, that is the milk. But I want everyone to understand the full context, which nobody in my family has been willing to consider, because they were too busy going "MISA. MISA. DROP IT." across the entire garden like a pair of hysterical people.

Here are the facts. The carton was on a counter. A counter is simply a high floor. I did not open the carton so much as the carton yielded. And critically — and I cannot stress this enough — nobody had fed me for over an hour. In that light I think what I did was less "stealing" and more "foraging," which is a beautiful and ancient tradition.

Daddy said the milk was "for coffee." I have never once been offered coffee. So who, really, is the thief here.

✎ UPDATE: I have been told that I am "not in trouble," but I am also "not getting any more milk," which is the exact punishment I would have received if I were in trouble. Curious.

IT IS HOT & NOBODY IS DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT

posted by MISA ✿ 1:12 PM ✿ mood: MELTING ✿ temperature: illegal

Misa lying in the shade of a slatted pergola on a sunny deck, panting with her tongue out, a lemon tree and blue sky behind her — I located the only shade on this entire property. I am not negotiating.

Let me describe my morning to you. I went outside. The sun was on. Not a little on. Fully on. Somebody has left the sun completely on and, as far as I can tell, there is no one in charge of it.

I have since identified one (1) rectangle of shade beneath the slats out back, near the lemon tree. I have claimed it. I will die there if I must, and honestly, at these temperatures, I may.

Inside this house there is a machine that makes cold air. A magnificent machine. The greatest invention of any species. And yet I am out here, in the sun, like some kind of outdoor animal.

Misa flopped completely flat on a deck with her chin pressed to the boards, a black cat lying nearby — Day 4 of the heat. The cat and I have signed a truce. Neither of us has moved.

Misa standing on a big sunny lawn squinting one eye shut against bright sunlight, desert fence and agave behind her — Daddy calls this "a nice sunny walk." Note the eye. The eye tells the true story.

If you are reading this and you own a cold-air machine, please know that you are living a life I can only dream of, and also please adopt me.

DADDY MADE ME GO "FOR A RUN" — I DID NOT CONSENT

posted by MISA ✿ 7:58 AM ✿ mood: deceased ✿ distance: too much of it

Every so often my father gets an idea. You can see it arrive in his face. He looks at me — a professional resting animal — and he says the words: "wanna go for a run?"

And I, being a fool, being an optimist, being a dog who hears the word "go" and stops processing the sentence, say YES. And then we are outside. And then we are still outside. And then we are continuing to be outside, at speed, for no reason, with no food at the end of it.

Misa standing in tall green grass in bright midday sun, squinting, wearing a pink and purple collar — This is the exact moment I stopped. Daddy called it "a nice jog." I call it a hostage situation with sunshine.

What follows is a photographic record of my collapse. I ask that you view these images in the order presented.

Overhead view of Misa belly-flopped flat and fully stretched out on a sunny lawn scattered with dry autumn leaves — Exhibit A: he said "one more mile." I said "this is where I live now."

Close overhead view of Misa lying flat on the grass from behind, hind legs stretched straight out — Exhibit B: the body, as recovered from the lawn.

Close-up of Misa's two hind legs and paw pads sticking straight out across the grass beside a dry leaf — Exhibit C: my legs have filed separately and are no longer taking instructions.

I lay in that grass for what scientists would describe as "a while." A leaf landed on me. I let it. I had nothing left.

✎ Walks: yes. Sniffing, ambling, stopping to fully investigate one specific fence post for six minutes: yes. Running: no. I have said this. I keep saying this.

I FOUND A STICK & IT IS MINE NOW

posted by MISA ✿ 9:30 AM ✿ mood: TRIUMPHANT ✿ possessions: one stick

Misa walking toward the camera along a dirt trail carrying a large stick sideways in her mouth, wearing a pink bandana, dry golden grass on both sides — Acquired. Do not attempt to negotiate — it has already been added to the estate.

THIS is a walk. Look at me. Look at my face. Look at the stick.

Nobody threw this stick. Nobody gave me this stick. I located it independently, in the wild, using my own nose and my own excellent judgment, and I carried it for one full mile while my parents said "she's not going to drop that, is she" in the tone people use when they already know the answer.

I wore my pink bandana for this. I want to be clear that I did not choose the bandana, but I have reviewed the photographic evidence and I do think it works.

THE COUCH: A LEGAL POSITION PAPER

posted by MISA ✿ 11:04 PM ✿ mood: horizontal ✿ intention to move: none

Misa curled in a tight donut on a cream sofa under warm lamplight, head twisted back toward the camera — Caught mid-donut. I am allowed up here. Don't start.

There has been some confusion in this household regarding the ownership of the couch, and I would like to resolve it permanently, in writing, on the internet, where things are true forever.

The couch is mine.

Mommy and daddy are of course welcome to use the couch at any time that I am not on it. That time does not exist, but the offer is sincere and I think it reflects well on me.

Misa sprawled on a patterned couch with her chin resting over a plush hedgehog toy, one eye looking sleepily at the camera — With Mr. Hedgehog. We are in a committed relationship and mommy is NOT allowed to wash him.

Misa as a puppy asleep upside down on a tan suede couch with her head tipped back and one ear flopped inside out — Baby picture. Even then, I knew. Note the ear. The ear is doing its own thing.

People ask me: Misa, what do you actually do on the couch? And I say: I do the couch. That's the whole job. I have been doing it since I was extremely small and I have gotten very good at it.

THE BROWN TRUCK MAN ★ VIDEO ★

posted by MISA ✿ 2:20 PM ✿ mood: on duty ✿ snacks received: 0

Here is real footage of me performing my job. ★ RealPlayer not required ★

Inspecting the brown truck. Wet day. Full security sweep. Unpaid.

A large brown truck comes to my property. A man gets out of it. He carries boxes. Boxes could contain anything — and I do mean anything — and it is my duty to be present, to supervise, and to make my availability extremely clear.

I have done this every single time for years. He has never once brought me a snack. Not one. I keep showing up because I am a professional, but I want it noted publicly that the arrangement is one-sided.