Minor panic this evening when I awoke from a nap and thought I heard it was Super Bowl Sunday. Of course, that turned out not to be true and what actually woke me up was Pete’s demiglace turning into a deep, rich brown gravy in the far-off kitchen and that really was important.
This morning, I got up much later than usual, though I have no idea why. Saturday Night Live was a rerun and I have no particular interest in Emma Stone or Coldplay; as we went to sleep, we were still giggling about lines from an early evening episode of Fawlty Towers, so you’d think all that aerobic exercise would’ve caused me to sleep lightly. No. I got up at just about 9. Here, we see the sad evidence of pussycats looking for me, waiting for me, not seeing me and running off to find food somewhere else. Nothing makes you feel like reheated crap like getting out of your cozy bed an hour and a half late and discovering you’ve disappointed cat people who aren’t even your pets. I was surprised to see these paw prints on this ledge. The cats that used to wait here moved away with their dumb people-people last summer. You can see these prints drip with dismay, but I may be overestimating and the snow may be thawing. Tomorrow, we expect the temperature to rise above 50.
About a week ago, I decided to stuff a cork in my wine drinking for a while. It wasn’t a big deal and it’s nothing permanent, but it makes a big difference in my budget. I had fifty bucks I wouldn’t have had otherwise, so I dropped them into this person’s Paypal account, because my good fortune can mitigate someone else’s misfortune. Tomorrow, I go back to work, which means I’ll be outside with food for the outdoor cats as the sun comes up. Perhaps they will forgive me, but we cannot say. Trust has to be earned, every day, every day.
Last night, my laptop crossed its arms and sulked sulkily. If you remember your teen years or have lived with people in theirs you’re undoubtedly familiar with the concept. Perhaps it was refusing to acknowledge the utterly tasteless idea that Republican presidential candidates would debate in South Carolina on Martin Luther King Day, but I wouldn’t give it that much credit. Last night, the crazy guy crazy guys look at and go, “Whoa!” suggested American foreign policy utilize the Golden Rule and I sure didn’t see that coming. The booing, that you could pretty much see coming for miles.
Anyway, I’m not sure what this sulking portends. Blogging might be tricky. Maybe. The laptop might just have some growing up to do. Whatever, but I better not find out it stole my car keys: the car needs a brake job and a better attitude.
It’s rare that I get two days off in a row, but this weekend I have a whole extra day for Topaz to lie on my lap and tell me about her new science project. I seldom understand what she’s talking about, what with her theories and specialized tools. You’d need specialized tools to build robots if you lacked an opposable thumb and the knowledge that cats don’t use tools or build robots. Brilliant Topaz cares not what anyone thinks. She cares only about results – results and fishy treats.
This interesting object that resembles a urinal but isn’t one was installed a couple of days ago in the unnamed university’s library just outside my office. It is a water fountain and water bottle filling station. I’d heard they existed and the unnamed university even had some up and working – somewhere. No one seemed to know precisely where or even what they looked like. Ta da!
These contraptions serve as water fountains for the passing thirsty, but also also the more stationary thirsty to refill bottles of all portable sorts. A bottle-bearer holds said bottle up to the sensor – the round thing that looks like a camera lens – and a stream of water pours from just above. The green screen keeps count of how many bottles of Poland Springs were not harmed in the refilling of this bottle. Outside my office, that number currently reads just about 30. I’ve refilled my quart Ball Jar three times and explained to anyone who’ll listen why this is great, great news.