So, sleeping for ten hours seems to have made a dent in the “feeling exhausted” symptom. And not standing up keeps me from being dizzy. I may have to experiment with whether lying down on the couch make me less nauseous, but “All Girls on the Couch” times are so rare that I hate to disrupt it.
Though even as I type this, Mrs. W. has gotten on the floor. The new kitty may be in for a bit of a surprise. The other day, as the new kitty was tromping through the house taking swings at everyone and then attempting to woo the Butcher with her cuteness, he asked me “Do you think the new kitty is Nermal?”
And I laughed and said, “Probably.” On the other hand, did I tell you about the time I caught her face-down in the enchiladas, like Garfield used to get in lasagna? So, hard saying. I’ll just say that, until this cat, I had no idea “Garfield” was so realistic.
In other news, I read this thing, thanks to a link Newscoma had up at Facebook. I am going to have nightmares about that Normal Rockwell picture now. But also, can I just say that, while I already got and was mortified that we’d done the equivalent of burning down someone’s church and trying to call the smoking remains a “sculpture” in their honor, I had no idea about the rude gesture part.
I laughed. I admit. God, what a bunch of assholes we are as a species.
I also finished The Last Werewolf which I really liked. I wouldn’t say that I loved it, exactly, because I’m tired of books that seem to be setting me up for a sequel instead of just being well-crafted self-contained units without divulging ahead of time that that’s what they’re doing AND yet feeling free to not wrap up story-lines so there’s some slight cliff-hangers. But I did like it as a meditation on what it means to live in a time when it feels like we have everything figured out and, in the figuring, have discovered that it means nothing.
Tiny Cat Pants 