And a bit of a sad one, really. The kids are off at their mother’s, Keeley’s got three days of training on the other side of the state (although it feels like the other side of the world), and so it was just me and the cats tonight, making do as best we can and moping about.
(Time was, I was alone all the time. And I got used to it. Looks like I’m un-used to it at long last, which is a very good thing to be, actually. It’s good to know that there are better things than being left alone.)
It’s not too bad, lest you think I’m feeling sorry for myself (which I am). The cats provide a little depth to everything, different levels to keep it all from feeling flat and flattening me.
Yes. I have turned into one of those people.
Although they did get a bit bossy at dinnertime, the cats. From their standpoint, I was possibly over-seasoning the tuna steak and almost certainly overcooking it. And they wouldn’t even consider the rice.
So. I ate while they sulked and the three of us watched “Mirrormask” with Neil and Dave chattering away over top of it. Chet fell asleep halfway through, but Vincent watched most of it. I think he was impressed by the swirling black bits . . . although he showed less interest in the sphinxes than I would have guessed.
Well, I’ve been stalling a bit, of course. I should be writing. And I would be, of course, if only I could decide what music The Shaggy Man is playing at dinnertime.
Enough’s enough. I’ll say it’s Django Reinhardt and hope for the best.
Wish me luck.