January 12th, 2008

breeden

(no subject)

Got up at 7 AM.

I'm not sure why. I was out at a wine tasting last night and didn't get home until after midnight. There is no reason I should be suddenly conscious and chipper at this unholy hour, fit only for small birds and airlines.

Ben was baffled by this unnatural behavior and eyed me askance from the bed until I got dressed and it became obvious that yes, I really WAS getting up. Then he shrugged and went to stand by the food bowl and mowl every three seconds, just in case I forgot he existed somewhere in the stage between getting the can of cat food out of the fridge and dumping it in the bowl. After dining, he got up on my desk and laid down next to the monitor, probably out of a desire for more sleep somewhere in my presence. (I love Ben.)

The downy woodpecker and juncos are unbothered by a human observer at this hour. Whether Adam and Steve have an opinion about the aquarium lights being turned on this early is hard to determine, since they're fish.

I had a dream last night where I was a boy wizard, although one less like Harry Potter would be hard to imagine, as I appeared to be a prince and all of my magic power derived from my...god help me...invisible walrus familiar.  It dragged out in the usual cinematic Effexor fashion, featuring dynastic family drama, Loch Ness, betrayal, intrigue, a castle siege, and at the triumphant moment, the return of King Arthur, who was thirty feet tall for some odd reason, the sudden visibility of my familiar ("See, Dad, I TOLD YOU I wasn't crazy!") and a battle with an evil witch, which devolved into a game of War with not-quite-tarot cards, which I won by playing the card "There Was A Walrus," which summoned up some kind of commando attack walrus, which had four tusks and giant steel claws strapped to its flippers, who proceeded to kick witch butt.

On second thought, maybe it's no wonder that I wasn't getting to sleep after THAT. I mean, really, what's left?
breeden

(no subject)

Okay, guys, give it up for the newest addition to the household--Angus!

A tall, slim orange-buff cat, I decided to name him after Angus Og, the Irish god of love. Fourteen months old, neutered male, he was friendly, inquisitive, and playful, and the shelter workers suggested him as the best candidate to be a good playmate for Ben.

Oh, they remember Ben.

"The frat boy cat!" (Frat boy cat...? Well, he does belch...and snap my bra...hmm...okay, yeah, I can see it...) "He got over the biting thing? Oh, good...Anyway, we talked about it," said the adoption counselor, "and Ben has such a big personality, we figured you needed a cat that wouldn't fight him for dominance, but was assertive enough that Ben couldn't just sit on his head and fart."

Yup, they remember Ben all right.

The cats seem to be interested in one another without being hostile--while the carrier was sitting in the living room, they studied each other without hissing or yowling, with apparent polite interest. (It's funny how BIG Ben looks--while Angus is about the same height, Ben's built like a linebacker and looks it.) Angus is now in the bathroom, which he doesn't much like--he's mowling, and wants me to come in and pet him--while Ben is sticking close to me, just in case the newcomer should prove to be a ninja. He seems puzzled and a bit tense, but not particularly alarmed by the new addition.

I shall attempt to keep them separated as suggested. We'll see how long that lasts before they decide to circumvent my feeble human blockade and take matters into their own paws.