Must be fire somewhere. Waking to look at the clock. Waking to realize I didn’t wake to look at the clock. Waking, gathering clothes and showering. Sensation of falling. Waking to realize I didn’t yet move. Waking inside some Shakepearian bookend. Am I awake? Is it official?
Like a bad dream Flickr is screwing around with its layout again making it hard for me to post my photos. But here we go,
Cats have good vision for movement left to right. Still objects of similar colors, not so much. In plain sight isn’t as clear as in triangulating in plain scent.
We look for new places to hide treats about the house for environmental enrichment; I think if I could hide treats in a way that would necessitate her doing our taxes first, we’d have ourselves an accountant.
I hid one in the pebbles on top of a house plant. She found it but decided there may be more. In the night, plink, plink as they hit the floor.
When she gets bored the irregular pebbles move in an unpredictable way and she’s quite delighted to pounce on this new prey. Now we have cat soccer where every now and then a metal cymbal as a stone goes onto a vent inside the cold air return registers.
And then there’s the bowl of nuts. Apparently they too have fun properties for soccer. We’re going to have to keep it covered because they stray until anywhere on the floor is likely to be an improv nutcracker.
Absurd how I get a ridiculous amount of stage fright when I write when I post, or don’t. Even alone in a room thinking to myself. The I am who are multitudes needs some sleep goggles or dark glasses or something.