Weathering a Gap in the Schedule. Attack of the Vampire Cat.

Ok. 

I know. 

Nobody wants to hear a Floridian whine about what a crappy winter we've had. 

So I won't - too much.  But when we're still selling out on arm warmers at the bike shop by the end of February, it's a bad sign!

We skipped the Santos 12 hour on Saturday.  Mountain bike racing is big fun, but seriously - tent camping - at 34 degrees?

Around here, a gap in the schedule fills in more quickly than the wake of a sloop in the America's Cup.

The Friday walk in the park is a chilled and windy hour spent with the ever joyous Mrs. Peanut and the adorable Little Miss Muffet (who remains elusive to my picture taking attempts).  

The sun comes out later in the day.  The temptation to return for a bit of trail running is irresistible.  But lately decent runs have been eluding me as deftly as Miss Muffet runs from the camera.  At least, the cracked ribs from the cold weather endo are 3 weeks healed.  I hope.   

The run goes well, and up ahead I see Splinter, one of the most famous ultra runners of our area.   One might wonder how a twice-a-weak-at-best runner could ever catch up with the likes of Splinter.  Here's a hint.  He was out for a typical (for him) 8 hour run.  Mine was 30 minutes.  Besides, he stopped to tie his shoe.

(Eavesdrop on their Wickham Park Marathon Google Group if you are curious about Splinter, Mad Matt, and the crazy folks who routinely run 100 and 200 mile  events: http://www.mattmahoney.net/wickham/   Also, be sure and check out the hilarious, "Wickham Park Marathon, 50, 100 and 200 Mile Fun Run" entry form.) 

Long story short, after a bit of water fountain chat about running, Splinter mentions that Saturday there will be an open house at Harris Corp, the top secret Palm Bay facility, fenced off from the world for the last fifty years.  The very same facility at which Popeye spends a good chunk of his life. 

Ah ha!  Popeye probably just didn't want to go back there on a Saturday.  Nah. Actually the open house would have been moot if it hadn't been 34 degrees in Ocala, and we had gone to the 12 hour.

One door closes, another opens.

Harris is - incredible. 

They do - incredible things.  

Things having to do with wavelengths and satellites, talking to the other side of the planet, or even to a guy in a spacesuit who's not on the planet at all. 

Touring Popeye's lab and some of the test sites was - incredible. 

And me without an advanced degree in engineering!  I have no idea what I am looking at, but I am suitably wow'd.    

I am careful not to take any photos that can't already be seen from Google Earth, so that's not a security blur. 

It's my finger.

And why is my finger poking into the picture, you ask?  

I was attacked. 

Attacked by a Vampire Cat. 

The level of violence was unprecedented this time, even for our angry little Pepper, who now finds herself in the unfamiliar position of middle child.  My wrist is punctured and swollen and doesn't bend too easily.  (I pray none of Popeye's co-workers will want to shake hands.)

Granted, as an experienced cat-herder, I should have known to wait a little longer before attempting to sooth over a multi cat spat.

Once a sweet Pepper, now a Hot-Under-The-Collar Pepper.

I thought I had cleaned up all the blood, but we are still finding stray spots along the path I took on my way out to the pool, with Pepper ferociously attached to my arm. 

At the last moment I quelled my urge to just plunge my arm, cat and all, into the pool.  I splashed her with my free hand instead.  (Not that I wouldn't have been happy to drown her at that point, I just didn't want her climbing further up my arm!)

How appropriate that the previous day the new Bad Kitty socks arrived at the shop.

Geesh!  There's another splat of blood, missed in the initial mop up!

The sloop races on, a long wake behind. 

Forget the knee.  Forget the ribs.  I just hope my wrist will be functional enough for Trek Demo Day!

Sigh.  And that this new $36 spray bottle of cat pheromones does some good too.