Until then I had
always received a small refund. Which is good because I never have money to pay
in. The refund usually went toward a new tire or other car repair.
HR never enacted my request. I made a second request.
So of course,
brilliant scholars that they were, they enacted both requests. I ended up
getting a nice little sum back on my refund. I decided to keep that deduction
on my pay-check even when I changed jobs.
People always chide me and remind me that I could place that
money in my bank and draw interest rather than letting Uncle Sam use it all year.
But I know me. I'd spend it, not have money to pay my taxes, and end up in
Debtors Prison. Besides, even if by some miracle I actually managed to keep it my bank all year, it's not going to make me rich off the
interest. My piece of mind and not
having to pay extra taxes is worth the pennies in lost interest to me.
Since I know I’m getting a refund each year, albeit a small
one, I'm somewhat haphazard in my deduction record keeping. I generally file EZ. But this past year I had
emergency surgery and a few other deductible expenses, so I sort-of kept a few receipts.
I generally know the approximate location
of the paperwork; however, this year I waited way too late to start looking.
I've averaged two hours and change each night in sleep. The rest of the time
I've been going through boxes and drawers, and boxes and closets, and boxes and
even more boxes. I finally found what I
sought in the second to last box. I'm happy to report I'm through with my
taxes. And I still have the entire day to get them mailed off. And I even have
a stamp… I think.
M is also for Moggy.
This past October I left Choir Rehearsal on the coldest night of the
year here in Central Texas—it was in the teens. As I left I heard a pitiful meow. I searched until I found it's
source—a tiny white kitten with black tipped ears, tail, and three spots on her
head. She was wild and uncatchable by me with my bad back and gimpy knee. I
snagged a jogger as he passed by and enlisted
his assistance. Unfortunately, we were
unsuccessful.
I went to the store and bought canned kitten food. She would
have nothing to do with either of us, so I placed it in a more sheltered location and left to go
do laundry. At the laundromat I found a torn and stained t-shirt. I took it to
the kitten. She still would have nothing
to do with me; however, she had eaten
about half of the canned food, so I fashioned the t-shirt into a bed and once
again left.
By this tube it was shift change and the graveyard police
were coming on duty. I went to the police department and told them if they
could catch her, I would find her a home. They said they would catch her. But
even they were unsuccessful.
The next day I called our Facilities Manager at Church and
told him about the kitten and where I had last seen her. He sent the Interns on
a kitten catching assignment, and she was finally caught.
I brought her home and she finally calmed down when I held
her on my chest. Even though I had already found a home for her, I started
calling her "Pip" because the spots on her head reminded me of the
pips (spots) on die or domino tiles.
She was, and still is, a little pip, but when I was
researching cat markings I wondered if she had a little Siamese. She doesn't. Her eyes are green. I wished she
was, because I would have named her "Meezer" (a nickname for
Siamese).
However, I found a site that talked about Moggies and liked that even better—especially when I
learned about the meaning of the name.
Moggie is British slang for Margaret or Maggie. It's also
the British term for a "cat of unknown parentage"—the feline
equivalent of the canine mongrel.
Since I liked both names her formal name for the
Veterinarian records became the very ostentatious Pip de la Moggie.
Until, my oh-so-pleased-with-himself Veterinarian informed
me she, is a he. He's now named Pip-Moggy as if he were a gangsta rapper. He is gangsta.
So gangsta I have given Bandit, my soon-to be ten year old Chinese Crested permission to put
Moggy in his place when he attacks Bandit's paws.
When Bandit looks at me with soulful eyes that ask Wasn't I enough? I lavish love and
treats on him, take him to the dog park or PetCo (where he is the center of the
known universe), and I remind him he will always be Top Dog.
Their sibling rivalry is as bad as that of fur-less kids.
Tomorrow is L—I think it’s just about Limerick-time! http://www.a-tozchallenge.com/http://www.a-tozchallenge.com/
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