Drinking the morning coffee; taking a day off from the job of job hunting. Job hunting is worse than having a job. Its infinitely more frustrating. My coffee is damned tasty. Its "Java Joe's." It kicks Starbux ass.

The cats are on a rampage. When the b/f and I were talking about moving in together, he pointed out that we'd have to get a pretty big place. There's us...we need space. There's the Girl-Child, she probably needs more space than we do. And then, between us, we would have 9 cats. Yes, that's correct; 9 cats. That's really kind of creepy, isn't it?

I'm up to 4 now. I can't remember if I told about my boy Fergus. We went to the shelter, I don't know why we went to the shelter, I should never go to the shelter...but we did. I was doing OK; I was visiting with some kitties but none of them were speaking to me, you know? Then the helpful shelter girl (and she was helpful) pointed out the boy on the top level, the level I can't see so well. She pointed out the 5 year old male who was reaching the end of his time here, the one who had been sponsored and was therefore less expensive...she got him down for me. Like I said, helpful. He's all black. He's got this face, this bad-ass, I could kick your butt for fun kind of face. "Shaddup," says the face, "Buy me whiskey and then fuck off." But his face is such a liar. He's a love. Solid, no saggy belly. And he rubs against you and gives you head-butts while you're on the toilet...I don't know why. He hears you sit and he appears, rubbing your legs and purring. I think he has a fetish.

And then, there was Roscoe. Just a wee baby that somebody dumped. He was crying in the neighbor's yard and my mother had to go see. HA! The Sainted Mother is a sucker for wee crying kitties...I kept him in isolation for a couple days until I could get him to the clinic. A remarkably healthy kitten; no mites, no worms, no diseases. Yay. He was so little then that he would lie on his back, paws up in the air making biscuits...just so cute. Now; he must be a teenager or something. Bad. He's killed 2 of my Sainted Mother's plants by repeatedly throwing them on the ground and eating leaves. He's all leg and balls. Those will have to go; not the legs.

The greatest thing though has been watching Fergus take over the care of Roscoe. I think they might have something going on...but Roscoe is Fergus's ward. He groomes him. They sleep together. They play together. He smacks anybody who messes with him. Bernard is not pleased with this turn of events. He's been sulking quite a bit.

Sorry. I just wrote a whole entry about my cats. I'm turning into a weird cat lady. I always figured I'd be a weird cat lady eventually, but not yet. I rather look forward to being a weird old cat lady. I can wear fuzzy slippers all the time, even to the grocery store. The neighborhood kids will think I am a witch (they'll be right) and will be scared to come in my yard (good). After our spouses/whatevers die, My Tired One will move in and our children will hate to come and visit us because we are so weird and we will drink sherry and tea and talk about the good old days. And the whole house will smell like cat piss and we won't notice. Oh yes, that will be good.

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