Tuesday. Rainy and cold and grey and cold and did I say? Rainy. And cold. I b’lieve I may be in for the day.
Wrote 1,000ish new words this morning, brining the WIP to 64,205.
This afternoon, I have — *sigh* — phone calls to make, but before that I need to make lunch. I bought a surplus on-sale rotisserie chicken at the grocery yesterday, so some of that will be going into today’s stirfry. Then, I’ll be about freezing some of it, maybe making chicken salad, and — who knows? chicken soup. I’ll need to poke around and see what I have in the way of Stuff that Makes Soup Interesting.
I finished reading Serpent’s Reach last night, which — not a book to be finishing right before bed. Next up is a CS Harris Civil War novel — Good Time Coming.
The cats . . . the cats are sleeping a lot, though they are, after all, cats. They’re both pretty much sticking with me. Firefly’s trying to pick up Tali’s lap shifts, which, for anyone but a Truly Dedicated lapcat, is ambitious, and for somebody who was a sitter-with — it’s got to be a challenge. I appreciate the effort she’s making.
Firefly also is seeming to think that she “hears Tali” — I’m saying this because, when Tali was still with us, Firefly would come to sit with me in the evening while I was reading. Tali would be getting her last wee dram of cat food before coming into my lap. During that time, Firefly would wake up from a sound sleep, disturbed by the crunching, so one assumes, and do a series of Discover Moves, including ears pricked forward and the slow-get-up, and the deep concentration before she’d realize that, yeah, a tiny mouthful was probably a good idea, and go join Tali at the food bowls. It’s a distinctive bit of body language, and she’s still doing that — waking like she hears Tali eating.
Rook. . .I can’t tell if Rook is more pragmatic, or if his grief is subsumed in all those naps during the times that he and Tali would be playing.
And me — I have many beloved feline ghosts. I still occasionally think I see Archie out of the corner of my eye, thirty years gone that he is.
Well.
What’s doing at your house today?
Today’s blog post title brought to you by Mr. Elvis Presley, “Kentucky Rain.” Yes, my mind is a scary, scary place.
Thank you for the link. In fact, let me take a moment to thank you for ALL the links over the years. My taste in music is such that even with the few that I didn’t already know, I have always liked the songs you link to.
In this case, I was too young, then, to get what the song was about, nor what his vocal talent did to enhance the meaning, so I’m doubly grateful to revisit it now, despite how much it made me cry.
Made it through the last of the avocados, with a little surgery. Guac on toast it was, quite tasty. Later we had an excellent broccoli chickpea salad, and we just had a topper of home grown tomato, sliced onto focaccia with mayo. A short digression to pay a bill led to my own discovery of a daemon gone wrong on my Linux box, leading me down a rabbit hole which both helped and hindered by Google’s artificial idiot. In the end I figured it out, and edified I made my way back to the kitchen for more snacks and puzzles.
They do linger. One of mine died in a car accident when I lived on a “rat run”, and that evening (she was barely out of the house) I looked out of the kitchen window into the alley and saw her standing in a pool of light, every hair on her body crisp and real. She stayed a short while and then headed into the dark.