Somewhere, anyway. Possibly because it’s always alcohol-o-clock somewhere in the world. Or maybe because another mid-week has passed and I’m getting closer to the weekend again.
Of late, the cats have adjusted where they sleep somewhat, with Midnight claiming the prime spot by the space heater (latest on the heating saga is that installation of the new gas heater is scheduled for March 3, with an option on moving forward if there’s a cancellation). In the meantime, it’s the two space heaters plus me wrapping myself in the cozy blankie and spending most of the day with said blankie having it’s own electric heat turned on.
I will be exceedingly thankful to have a somewhat more potent way to heat the study. Her Highness Princess Buttercup will probably lament the loss of her personal heated lap, since she likes to park herself on mine, particularly when I have the blankie on. And when she’s not stealing my hair tie.
Since Her Highness will still park on my lap when she wants it, I’m quite sure I’ll survive her displeasure. She wouldn’t want to lose her lap, after all. That would mean she’d lose easy access to the free petting. And the shorter jump to get to the desk, where she can steal my hair tie if I’m not facing straight ahead.
I’m not entirely sure what the attraction is for the hair tie, but she’ll steal it given half a chance, then she’ll kill it, and I’ll find it half the house away looking rather the worse for wear – if I’m lucky. There are some that were never seen again.
And now I’m thinking of elderly hair ties telling their grandchildren of the terrible demon creature with fierce claws and teeth that steals them away from their rightful place, and leaves them to die alone, never to be useful again. The horror of it all! What is the world coming to, when a poor innocent hair tie can be stolen and murdered so?
I’m going to guess in this scenario the much rejoicing would be performed by the fearless kitteh that stalked the fearsome hair tie and pulled it away from Mommy so it could be killded and not do strange things to Mommy’s hair any more.
Which is, I guess, a rather bizarre example of the truism that everyone is the hero of their own narrative.
It does help – even when it might not seem to be so – to remember that the world where your feet get cold is the one you really have to pay attention to. And that whoever’s been giving you crap this week might just be casting you as the current antagonist (I hope not. Much better to be background color. Background color doesn’t get targeted, although it is prone to being redshirted in certain types of fiction). Or they could just be having a bad week.
I know I have to sit hard on my tendency to emit heavy sarcasm when I’m having a bad time of it. Others have… issues with the level of sarcasm. Even when I flag it as such. I mean, what part of “We’re massively understaffed and don’t have enough bodies to keep pace, but you want us to add Big Shiny New Feature? Shall we walk on water for you as well?” is excessively negative?
Anyway, enjoy the rerun of Her Highness claiming my laptop case. She requires your adulation, after all.