The sock rapist

Life with cats never gets dull. I've lived with them most of my life, and never cease to be amazed at what they'll get up to. I don't think our place as the top species on the planet would be safe if they ever evolve opposable thumb-claws.

Today, Linda came back to the house rushing between appointments. There was a pair of socks upstairs, near the dining room table. Wet with drool, at least she hoped it was drool. Unfolded. Strewn. Covered in dust and stuff. (We don't vacuum our basement daily, so sue us!)

She gave both cats the hairy eyeball. Curtis looked benign and serene. Celina squirmed, and looked pretty guilty. That, with her track record of other perversions, we are guessing she is the guilty party. Linda put them back in the laundry basket. There have been several times now that Celina has tried to help out with the ironing.

Curtis likes to help write this blog. He doesn't spurn Twitter or email, and if I could ever get back to work with the novel, he'd probably want to help there. Right a this moment he is sprawled across the usable part of the desk. Helping. Like this:

This has been an odd week for me on the workout front. I didn't think I had overdone it on the run front on Monday, but oh my goodness have my legs ever been tight! I did only a very short spin, the shortest in years on Tuesday. Didn't swim Wed, Thurs, or Friday and should have gone at least one of those days. Thursday after work we had a wonderful bowl of soup that was just PERFECT on a cold day. After I nibbled some crackers and cheese and drank wine and watched an episode of Sherlock. Then went to bed. A nice evening all round.

We've been having some hoar frost here, so the other day getting out of my car downtown, I see this.

Tonight I'm seriously considering getting on my bike for a good spin since my legs started loosening up today. Or, I could open that bottle of wine that is calling me, and settle in for some Game of Thrones. Decisions, decisions.