Apparently 2009 is the UN's International Year of Natural Fibres. Huh.
Every so often, my cats decide to remind me exactly why they were up for adoption in the first place. Like this morning. I vaguely remember hearing Slim throw up as I drifted off to sleep last night, and made a mental note to check the floor before I started stumbling around the apartment in the morning. This morning, I swung my feet out of bed, placed them on the floor, and -- SPLUT. Looking on the bright side, it was less than six inches away from my sandals, and yet somehow missed them. It's possible this is Slim's way of telling me he's somewhat irate that I haven't yet done anything about the mats on his lower back (He never used to mat. At all. Then one day about two weeks ago I turned around and the 6-inch patch near his tail was so irrevocably matted I'm going to need to get him shaved to fix it.), so a vet visit may be in his future.
Riley's version of this behaviour is to remain in physical contact with me at all times. He even sleeps on my head.
I've been reading knitting blogs again. One of my peculiarities when reading a blog is that I need to go back and read it from the beginning. I enjoy watching the process of 'blogger-then' evolving into 'blogger-now'. So I've been boning up on the adventures of Franklin and his (fictional) roomate Dolores over at the Panopticon. I'm almost through 2006 in the archives, which means the population of his apartment has been supplemented with a narcissistic spinning wheel and about sixty balls of talking sock yarn. I am wildly entertained.
Now, there is sweeping and swatching to be done. And this afternoon Megan and I are going to the Knit Cafe, she wants a sweater, and I want an excuse to buy more yarn. Too bad I only get paid tomorrow.
Every so often, my cats decide to remind me exactly why they were up for adoption in the first place. Like this morning. I vaguely remember hearing Slim throw up as I drifted off to sleep last night, and made a mental note to check the floor before I started stumbling around the apartment in the morning. This morning, I swung my feet out of bed, placed them on the floor, and -- SPLUT. Looking on the bright side, it was less than six inches away from my sandals, and yet somehow missed them. It's possible this is Slim's way of telling me he's somewhat irate that I haven't yet done anything about the mats on his lower back (He never used to mat. At all. Then one day about two weeks ago I turned around and the 6-inch patch near his tail was so irrevocably matted I'm going to need to get him shaved to fix it.), so a vet visit may be in his future.
Riley's version of this behaviour is to remain in physical contact with me at all times. He even sleeps on my head.
I've been reading knitting blogs again. One of my peculiarities when reading a blog is that I need to go back and read it from the beginning. I enjoy watching the process of 'blogger-then' evolving into 'blogger-now'. So I've been boning up on the adventures of Franklin and his (fictional) roomate Dolores over at the Panopticon. I'm almost through 2006 in the archives, which means the population of his apartment has been supplemented with a narcissistic spinning wheel and about sixty balls of talking sock yarn. I am wildly entertained.
Now, there is sweeping and swatching to be done. And this afternoon Megan and I are going to the Knit Cafe, she wants a sweater, and I want an excuse to buy more yarn. Too bad I only get paid tomorrow.
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