theology&geometry

Most of the time when we try to show Holden the cats, he looks everywhere but at them, or he shrieks in their faces and they gallop off. The other night we were chilling on the couch and Jack just plopped himself down beside the baby and hung out despite being kicked repeatedly. Like it was no big thing. I died of cute but came back to life thanks to the abundance of life-giving cute in the air.

May all your pumpkin-snarfing dreams come true.

Amanda and Kristin brought us some pretty blue cut hydrangea blooms for the shower last weekend, and Jack has been eyeing them longingly every day since then. But he hasn’t made a pounce for them. So I rewarded his restraint by letting him have a chomp or twelve on my banana peel.

You can tell he’s fantasizing about sucking the life out of an infant — just look at him.

He has been overseeing my progress today. And making sure to get the new glider given to us by my mom and dad fully covered in his hair.

She’s my lookout. Mailpersons beware.

[Project 365]

My dear boyfriend, upon the occasion of his first attempt at cleaning the litter box:

“There is an amazing amount of turds in here.”

This is actually what Sally made for Ray, but she is so proud of their love that she wanted to show the internet too.

I’m sick. My pictures suck. EVERYONE’S A CRITIC, KITTY, JEEZ.

[Project 365]

Oh, man. It’s weird having so many weather events lately. I feel like I have to make a funny face when I say that: weather events.

The snow was so pretty and peaceful coming down today and then I had to leave the house. That’ll make a person real grumpy real fast.

Snow days are okay though, because we try to get done with work early and get the heck outta dodge before midnight, when the water on the roads INSTANTLY turns to ice. Not one second before. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. That way it makes it okay to leave my comfortably (most of the time) heated office and come to my frigid-ass house, where the hundreds of dollars of natural gas I pump into this place every month say “poof” unceremoniously and escape out every possible crevice. Yes, even that one. All of them.

Anyway, that was the worst segue ever to what I really wanted to talk about (and what I always want to talk about): CATS. A cat, technically. Singular.

Mr. Kitty.

Er, Sir Kitty of Litterpaw, just went on an epic quest from the back of the house to the front, and then up a barnacle-caked cliff (the door jamb) to try and rescue the Scroll of the Ancient Catgrassians (something invisible that only he can see), after which he triumphantly leapt over The Hills of Ottoman (the ottoman) and stuck a pretty bitchin’ sliding landing on Her Majesty’s Golden Throne (a gold-colored chair; do I really need to annotate this story?). Then he sat quietly for ten minutes near Mt. Entertainment Center, blinking slowly and methodically and — if I may say — hypnotically. Then, when Her Majesty the Sallybug had pranced her way over to the gold chair and perched at its peak to survey her kingdom, Sir Kitty sneaked up on her and tried to wrestle her down off the throne. That’s right, that knight had the audacity to overthrow the Queen! And it worked, and now there is serious political upheaval in the hallway.

Okay, so, all of that was just to say that my cats are LARPers and I’m okay with that.

Also, this post did not start out as a cat post and I had no intention of it being a cat post. I solemnly swear.

[Project 365]