Since many of you wrote to say, “But Pamie, I like stories about the cats,” I offer you stee’s entry today, where Olive learns… well, I’m not sure it’s possible anything was going on up there, but we learned she’s not nearly as smart as we gave her credit. I kept saying she was going to ruin her eyesight, being so close to the screen.
Having a job that pulls many hours a week at an office has given me something I haven’t had in a long time: weekends.
Mmm. Weekends. Two blissful days without a commute. I had forgotten the luxury of spending the morning in bed with a cup of coffee, lazy cats, a good book (Does Lemony Snicket count? I really needed something gooey after that whole Haunted-at-bedtime fiasco.), plans for brunch with friends, and the love of your life by your side. Because home has been the office for so long, every day was a workday, and mornings in bed made me feel guilty. Now I remember to take a bit of time to sleep an extra thirty minutes, to spend some time with my head out of the computer, making plans to do something stupid just because it sounds like fun. Continue reading
Downloading 164 pieces of email. I’ve got some time to kill.
There are three cats now. I haven’t mentioned that before, but there are three cats. Taylor, Cal and Olive. Olive is new. She’s a girl. They didn’t all meet until the new house, so each one was like, “Where the hell am I? Oh, you live here? Great. Nice to meet you. I’ll try not to get in your way.”
We had imagined there’d be nine different nasty fights with two boys and a girl, but surprisingly there wasn’t a single spat. Just a few paw swipes and some hissing, and then somehow the house was divided during the night, and they all just sort of get along.