Personal Space

One thing in short supply around here is personal space.  Cats simply do not recognize the term nor the concept.  "My" lap is not "my" lap.  If it's there, it's theirs.  Celeste will leap up out of nowhere and move in.  Ralph has better manners and will pat my arm to ask permission, then goes about trying to fit into whatever space Celeste has left for him.  "I need to get up now."  "Oh, really?  Do you not see we are napping?  Read the Do Not Disturb sign, lady."  I can't remember the last time I was able to turn over in bed, weighted down by 50-lb cats every night.  Michael is not exempt.  One of his favorite sleeping spots during the day is his 'real' bed in the living room.  Celeste has discovered that there's a warm spot when he gets up and promptly jumps in.  Michael may have gotten up just to get a drink of water, but when he comes back, Celeste opens one eye and says, "Don't even think about it."  She's made Michael a believer and he goes away.

Looking out at the foggy landscape this morning, it's hard to remember that yesterday we spent our time in the sunshine and warmth.  It's also hard to believe that snow even below my elevation is predicted for tomorrow.  Nature is so capricious.

Well, they've done it again.  The blankety-blank time change occurred last night.  Aarrgh.  And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Ralph is patting my shoulder, telling me he would like to sit on even my cramped lap here at the computer.  Oh well, what the heck, it's not my lap.

Stay safe.  Be well.