After a very bleary start to my morning, I was rewarded with the sight of cat footprints all over my windshield as the sun hit the car just right as I turned in to the parking garage at work. Some people get really pissy when there are cute smudgy paw prints all over the window, but not me. It looked like there was a cat dance party last night, and that made me smile. There were even some swoosh lines, as if a few of the cats were bent back in to a deep dip. Jealous!
The office is vacant today—it’s just me and Ex-Cop. I finished a very annoying archival project, and I now have 6.5 hours to kill. Who-Wee is off shopping (and probably drinking) with her daughters, which is a damn shame, because it’s a perfect day for some office ping-pong. Instead, I’ll probably just spend some quality time slouching in my chair, and scowling at the creeping advance of the clock.
I managed to waste about ten minutes on the Austin Siamese Rescue website. This kitten lust is ravaging my poor heart. I also miss Mattress something fierce, and while The Bear is creaming his fuzzy black self every time he opens his eyes and sees that he truly is the only cat in the house, I need some cuddles. I realize that to be an awesome mother, I need to put The Bear’s needs before mine, but he doesn’t let me cry in to his belly, and he makes the most awful goat bleats when I squish him to my bosom. Ungrateful child o’ mine.
Last night I donned my party dress and orange mary janes (that sound you hear is Laroux’s bellow of extreme jealousy), and went to the UT fashion show with Who-Wee and her kids (we had good seats since they are friends with one of the designers). It wasn’t a night of playing pool with Cattleboy, nor did I accept any first place prizes (all of the fun things I have done in the party dress so far), but I felt pretty, and sometimes, that is what’s really important. In linking to the Cattleboy post, I ran across the post about Whoopis’ death, and I started crying. Now I don’t feel as pretty.
Speaking of Cattleboy, last night we discussed possibly playing some more pool in the near future. Maybe if I put that in to words here, it’ll really happen. I would very much like that. Then I can show him how I’m fairly certain my moles are growing back, and he can show me exactly what he got tattooed across his chest. This is chaste show-and-tell people, and will probably be way less sexy than me pulling down my shorts in a gay bar.
Clementine seems to be doing well. I cannot judge firsthand since CSP is all greedy, and thinks she belongs to him. Gah! He tells me that she is a very neat and tidy cat when it comes to litterbox habits, and that she is interested in dry kibble, but she shouldn’t eat it, since it is a choking hazard at one month of age. CSP has finally come up with a proper name for her—a name I totally approve of (so shut it, mister), but Clem will forever be her pet name. And Little Miss. Perhaps he will be so kind to bring her to see me this weekend; and, no, I can’t go to his place (it’s complicated, and not worth discussing for fear all of you would fall asleep, drool on your keyboards, and then I’d feel responsible for your broken laptops).
Since I’m becoming one of those crazy cat-blogging ladies, here is another picture of kitties. I miss these boys, even if two of them probably haven’t even noticed that I am no longer a part of their daily lives.
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