Catsit

So Colleen and Tim are off on a Las Vegas vacation, which I hope they are enjoying. I think Colleen likes Vegas even more than I do. But they have 3 cats that must be tended, so we are staying downtown in their condo to take care of them. Moving into somebody else's home for a week can be difficult. First, while most of us have places in our homes to put all of our things, we don't normally have a place for somebody else to put their things. This was the case as we arrived at the condo with a week's worth of stuff we needed. You may already be familiar with the late George Carlin's funny routine about "stuff", but suffice to say, we had to move a bunch of Colleen's "crap" to make room for our "stuff". The next difficulty moving into somebody else's home is finding things. They never store anything where you think it should be. You have to open 7 cabinets to find a drinking glass. And I still haven't found the coffee pot. I'm pretty certain Colleen's coffeepot is at the corner of Roosevelt and Wabash. I must be getting old. I'm an I/T professional, but couldn't figure out how to work the thermostat. And why is the bathroom the coldest room in the place? I'm talking about the bathroom with the killer towel rack that jumps off the wall and attacks you.

So we're living with cats again. We always had lots of cats in the house when the kids were living at home, but except for an occasional visit, we haven't had cats at home for nearly 5 years. I've forgotten the thrill of stepping on kitty litter in your bare feet. Or the way floating cat hairs can enhance a meal. And there's little doubt who's the master and who's the slave in the house. You don't see the cats cleaning up my puke, or scooping up my crap. And that reminds me, how do they get away with advertising that contraption as a self cleaning catbox? Thank God I have a cold and couldn't smell what I was digging out of the machinery with my fingers.

But it's really not that bad. Gracious and Carmel stay out of my way and Mitts is his usual sweet self, but he's sure to let you know if you're not petting him just right. He seems so cute as he watches me eat my cereal, and tucks his head under my elbow, and trys to stick his nose in my bowl!

Actually, I was aware of Mitts' breakfast habits, and allowed him the last half ounce of cereal milk. Am I crazy or what?