Who knew blogging would be this much fun!
On second thought, maybe it’s more about fiddling with the widgets than writing. Hmmm.
Still trying to figure out how to get a poll to show up as a widget on the right instead of in a specific post.
More later …
Cats are people too!
Well, sort of.
At least mine seem to think they are.
Now, before you start thinking, “oh my gosh, not another old lady with cats,” let me explain that I have only two eleven year old cats, born a month apart. The reason I have two instead of one is that a former coworker managed to talk me into adopting one she had to give up.
The first one is a Siamese named Emily and the second is a Snowshoe named Oliver. Both were low-key, almost no maintenance, and a pleasure to have around — until about two years ago when they started acting like crabby, needy people and have been driving me crazy ever since.
The main reason I like cats in the first place is that they’re so low maintenance. They’re stand-offish, especially Siamese, and they sleep most of the time. Now that mine are older, though, they’ve become lap cats — and follow me all over the house cats — and meow at me constantly cats — and hair all over the place cats.
Between the two of them, they are my official timekeepers. At about 9:30 every night, Ollie walks up to me, lets out a string of plaintive meows, then heads for the stairs. He does this repeatedly until I turn off all the lights, etc. and follow him up to bed — or throw a coaster at him. (No, I don’t actually try to hit him. I just lob it in his direction to get him to go away and let me read my book for a while longer.) Emily, on the other hand, wakes me up every morning by sitting next to my head and purring — loudly. Who knew purring would make such a good alarm clock!
Okay, enough about cats — except for the pictures, of course …
Emmie
Ollie
It’s my baby sister’s fault.
She got me into this just like she got me into all kinds of stuff when she was a teenager and I should’ve known better. Of course, “baby” is a relative term, given that she’s past the half-century mark. But, I am definitely older and there’s another sister in between so I guess baby still applies.
Me, blogging!
Who’d a thunk it?
I don’t even like to talk.
If left alone, I can go for days without speaking. Unless one of the cats gets under foot and then I say things my Mom would be ashamed of me for saying. She washed my mouth out with soap when I was nine — but it didn’t take. It did, though, take me about forty years muster up enough nerve to buy a bar of Dove soap. I wouldn’t have even then except that my daughter spent about six months trying to convince me that it was really good for keeping your skin soft, and it does, so now I’m a convert and don’t get antsy in the shower at all. (No, they’re not paying me to say that and let’s just leave Norman Bates out of this discussion.)
Back to topic …
Given the choice between a room full of people and a good book, I’ll take the book every time. Not that I’m particularly anti-social. It’s just that I like to read — a lot. And, I’ll read almost anything but more about that some other time.
I read a magazine article once about how there are two kinds of people. For some, other people give them energy. For the rest, other people suck the life right out of us.
Now, don’t start thinking I hate people. I don’t. Not really. I mean, I wouldn’t want to go live in a cabin in the woods or anything. In fact, I don’t even like visiting out in the country except in cold weather, but that’s another story. I like the burbs (great movie, by the way) and being around people. I just don’t like to talk a lot. I’m shy. Kinda, sorta.
Enough of this for now. It’s getting late, I’m sleepy, and I have to work tomorrow.
Good Old Girl 