Caturday

The cats are antsy this morning—not keen on having their glorious visages captured. Gaston swirls around my legs, saying "Pat me, pat me, pat me more! NOW!!!" Rocco paces and head butts me, "You're not skritching behind my ears right now. I feel all neglected and shit. *sniff*" Coco just goes about her business, clearing thinking "Oh, it's the broad with the camera again. Quel ZZZZZZZZZZ!"

Gaston’s back to being a regular visitor and seems more determined than ever to get inside the house. He almost made it just now. I’d feel guilty about not letting him in (OK more guilty) if the weather was still wretchedly abysmal. Yeah, it’s only 16º this morning but the sun’s out and it’ll warm up to 36º by midday. Also too, he’s a Maine Coon Cat—his winter coat rivals that of a polar bear. OK and I put out a freshly warmed sleeping bag for him.
Alright, alright, I just set up Rocco's old semi heated cat house for him too.

Rocco, after pouting, letting us know how unhappy he was about us for being gone all day Thursday, is back to his schmooze-baggian ways. Here he is with his latest literary find—Jonathan Lethem’s Dissident Gardens. By the by, my PCP tells me that my nighttime coughing would vanish if I made our boy sleep elsewhere (he naps/stands guard by my head all night). Oh. Huh. I allowed that I’d discuss this with him. Perhaps, with the embryonic warm temps about to take center stage, he’d like to get out from under the heavy duvet. I can make him a little pallet of his own by the window. He can watch the returning birdies.

Coco is every bit as wonderful as usual. I mentioned to The Amazing Bob that the long chemo days would be much more comfortable if we could have her there with us. She’d sit on TAB’s lap, keeping him warm and calm and then she’d sit in the huge windows, goggling over the incredible view. Yup, gotta speak with the nurses about this.