The Waking Hour

My alarm is set for six. It’s a little earlier than I’d like, and earlier than others might need for an 8 AM job three miles from my door, but I hate being rushed in the morning: it sets the wrong tone for the day. So I get up early and ease into the day.

Dmitri’s alarm is set for five. Cats are cats, especially young ones like mine. They’re curious, and they’re agile, and although they have each other to play with Dmitri is generally more energetic than Ivan – if there’s trouble to be gotten into, it’s mostly Dmitri doing it. Dmitri’s the one jumping at the shadows reflected back on the blinds from the morning sun. Dmitri’s the one trying to open cabinets and jump up on bookshelves. Ivan’s usually the one watching the mischief from the TV stand.

Of course, as I’m writing this Ivan is playing with the bedroom door. So there’s that.

Anyhow, so lately Dmitri keeps finding ways to make noises at 5 AM. Knocking stuff over, jumping around, the usual cat stuff. Which wakes me up at the worst possible time, because I really want that last hour of sleep. But once he gets me up, there’s not much chance of shutting my brain back down and getting a few more winks in. I start thinking of how much I’d like to get some more sleep, what I have to do that day, how annoying it is to have cats wake me up when I just want to get some sleep …

When Gizmo used to do that, I would sometimes shut the bedroom door so he wouldn’t disturb me with his antics. That backfired because he hated being separated from me. He didn’t have to be in the same room with me, but he hated the idea that he couldn’t be. These two aren’t quite like that, so the closed door works – except that part of morning ritual at the Winter Palace is Dmitri jumping up on the bed to say good morning once the alarm goes off.

And I kinda love that part. He purrs as soon as I touch him, and he’s very sweet and affectionate. Ivan usually waits his turn, which about half the time involves me coming to him.

I love my cats, as much as they drive me nuts sometimes. They are now chasing each other around the house like maniacs.

Sunday Mornings

Sleeping in. Playing with cats before getting out of bed. Scrambled eggs and toast with orange juice. Doing a little housework before settling in for some reading and writing.

Good times.

Environmental Factors

For the record, the job search continues unabated. I’m submitting stuff, I’m bidding for jobs on Elance, I’m a  money-seeking missile more powerful than the sword. (Apparently I am also Sheenesque. That’s Sheen-esque, not Sheena-esque. I’m not going to break into Bond-theme song or run around the jungle in a leather bikini. Thank me later.)

So I’m just going to come right out and admit it. I am nobody’s idea of a great housekeeper. I have a somewhat higher tolerance for clutter than is reasonable. This means that my desk disappeared years ago. And since my high clutter tolerance is couple with a low housework tolerance, I just let it stay that way. I cleared roughly enough space for the keyboard, mouse and monitor when I was using my antique desktop PC, and that was it.

When my laptop came back from the shop, I set it up on the coffee table in the living room. This was helpful when I wanted to screw around on the Interwebs while watching TV. It’s less productive when I want to get actual work done: too many distractions. Cats, TV, Xbox, window, books, kitchen, noise from the neighbors on the landing. Plus crouching over the coffee table isn’t what you’d call ergonomic.

So I finally broke down yesterday and reclaimed my desk. Cleared it all off. Now my laptop is sitting where my ergo keyboard used to, and I’m FAR more productive. Funny how these things make a difference.

Adventures in Low Tech

I wanted to heat up some spiced cider, because I like it and I’m cold. (I’m starting to feel like I’m coming down with something. Let’s hope I’m wrong.) But my microwave seems to be dying, so I came up with what I thought was a good solution: heat some water on the stove and put the glass of cider in that.

Here’s what happened.

A few minutes later I heard a crack. I went to check, and the glass looked fine. But I knew it was done for, so I figured I’d take the whole thing off the stove and decant the cider into another glass. When I picked up the glass with an oven mitt, the cider fell right out into the pot of hot water.

I held in my hand a glass tube. The bottom was neatly sheared almost exactly parallel to the top, maybe half an inch from what had been the bottom of the glass. I poured the cider water down the drain and there was the bottom of the glass, intact but sheared away from the rest.

It was COOL.

A New Balance

Ivan and Dmitri seem to have found the ability to tolerate each other. Ivan’s still a little aggressive – he likes to bite Dmitri’s neck for no apparent reason. He seems to be settling in as the top cat, which I would not have expected.  Dmitri’s getting more confident and comfortable by the day, although he’s still a little skittish around me at times (even though I’m not the one biting his neck). But neither one is hissing, nobody’s yowling, and wherever they were when I got home this afternoon they were hiding there together.

Right now they’re chasing each other around the Winter Palace. This is the time of night when Ivan usually gets playful, and it looks like Dmitri has decided to join in.

This is good news. I don’t have to worry that I’m going to come home to a couple of shredded pets. I do have to start shutting the bathroom to keep from coming home to a mound of shredded toilet paper.

I’m a little more able to relax and enjoy them now. They’re both very sweet and affectionate, and so gorgeous: Ivan with his silver-grey coat, and Dmitri all glossy black. I’ve been trying to get some decent pictures of them, but my camera is slow and my cats are not.

Anyway, progress. It’s a good thing.