January 19th, 2008


(no subject)

Woke up this morning wondering vaguely why my hipbones felt dislocated.*

I looked down and discovered that both cats were asleep between my legs. Angus had snuggled down between my knees and Ben was stretched out and partially draped over my right shin. As they are both rather large cats, in order to achieve domestic harmony, while leaving enough neutral space that nobody got a foot in the face, at some point in the night I had rolled over on my side and was practically doing the splits.

I'm glad they're getting along, but I had sort of envisioned a different compromise on sleeping arrangements.

When the UPS guy woke us all up, and I staggered out and got my packages, then went to the bathroom, both cats descended on me, driven by that universal feline belief that a human on the toilet is Deeply Fascinating. "Hi, guys," I said. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, and as I watched--a captive audience--Ben turned and gave Angus a friendly head bump. Angus staggered a bit--a head bump from Ben is a bit like a weak punch--but purred anyway.

Domestic harmony seems to be forthcoming.

*Yeah, yeah. I wish.

(no subject)

It's snowing here.

I canceled my plans to go see a movie--being of Minnesotan extraction, I can drive in anything short of glaze ice, but I fear the other drivers, who once shut down the entire city for fear of a single snowflake sighted somewhere over Cary--and planted myself on the couch. Snow falling outside, a quesadilla comfortably inside me, two affectionate cats, hot cider, a glass of white wine starting to sound like a lovely idea, an episode of Mythbusters tivoed, the latest Emma Bull novel at my elbow, enough video games to last out a siege...yes, life was glorious, and I didn't have to go anywhere, and...

...I glanced outside.

The birdfeeder was empty. A lone goldfinch sat on it, pecking disconsolately at the opening, hoping against hope for a stray seed.

What? No! Sad birds in snow?!

Not on my watch!

I threw on my coat, sighed, and went out to the grocery store. As one might expect, it was full of people frantically buying out the selection of bread, eggs, and milk (a friend of mine has a theory that this is because of a widespread belief that the Storm Gods can be appeased only by offerings of French toast.) I acquired my birdseed and some popcorn, and got in line behind a gentleman determined to pay his bill at the self checkout in cash, using crumpled one-dollar bills. I stifled another sigh.

It's for the birds, man.