Two's Company

"Two's company, three's a crowd," so the saying goes.  That may be so, unless there are two cats on one crowded lap.  It's a scientific fact that a sleeping cat immediately gains twenty-five pounds and becomes an immovable object.  Two cats equal fifty pounds.  I begin to lose feeling in my legs and would like to reposition, but no.

The same thing happens at night.  I must get comfortable as soon as I lie down because almost immediately Ralph curls up on one side of my legs and Celeste takes the other and I am effectively pinned under the blanket for the duration by the heavyweights.  There will be no tossing and turning, or even turning over, for me.

Grey and overcast, the rain held off during the day and allowed me to bring another couple of wagon loads of wood to the porch.  I'm in the process of negotiating with a different propane company and a gentleman came to inspect and decide the best way to put in a new tank when the time comes.  We were both pleased not to get drenched.  Bess and I took the trash down to the big road in early afternoon while the rain continued to hold off.  (It came sometime during the night.)

I just felt Ralph's light touch on my shoulder.  I swiveled around and he stepped onto my overworked lap.  It matters not to him that typing with a cat in my arms is difficult.  I think of it as my lap.  Ralph and Celeste know it is theirs.  Sigh.