did like it. The unrelenting yellow seemed kind of overwhelming and for a while I thought Fred might be spending next weekend painting the master bedroom – for the record, I’d originally suggested that we go with a smoky blue rather than yellow, but Fred wanted to see how the yellow went – but this morning when I woke up and looked around the room in the natural light coming through the windows, I started to like it. After I took my shower and spent half an hour reading in the recliner in the corner of the room, I really liked it, so yellow it shall stay. I do fear, however, that Fred’s going to have to repaint that room when we’re ready to sell the house, because some people just loathe yellow. Of course, after he’s painted all these rooms, we very well might opt to stay here. I doubt it, though, because by GOD I will never live at the end of a cul de sac as long as I live. Not only does every kid in the neighborhood consider our tiny front yard their own, but every time we get a windy day, all the trash from everyone else’s yard blows into our front yard and I’m TIRED of picking up other peoples’ trash. ANYWAY. I got off the subject, actually, because what I wanted to address was the zucchini bread that Fred’s mother gave us. When snack time rolled around (“SNACK TIME? NO WONDER SHE’S SO FAT!”) I said “I think I’m going to eat one of these little loaves of zucchini bread (“NO WONDER”, etc.) for my snack.” and Fred said “Oh, that sounds like a good idea.” And then he walked into the kitchen and gasped. “What?” I said. “Sugarbutt’s eating the zucchini bread.” I walked in to see what he was talking about, and sure enough there was Sugarbutt on the kitchen counter, bellied up to one of the loaves of zucchini, eating like it had been placed there just for him. “Sugarbutt!” I scolded. “Bad boy!” I picked him up and put him down on the floor. I would say that almost a third of the loaf of bread was gone. “God, I guess SUGARbutt is a good name for him,” I said. Sugarbutt likes any kind of food, but he especially likes the sweet stuff. “I’m kind of impressed,” Fred said. Sugarbutt’s been trying to figure out how to get up on the kitchen counters ever since we’ve had him, and has always been thwarted by his short, stubby legs. I glanced down at Sugarbutt, who sat and looked up at me with the most hopeful look on his face, like he thought I might change my mind and offer him the entire loaf of bread. I didn’t, but what I did do is pick him up and kiss him right on the top of his fuzzy little head. It’s hard to resist a chunky little orange kitty. (Fred cut the slobbery part off the zucchini loaf and ate what was left, so all was not lost.)
Such a regal little face he has.
Maximum catpacity has been exceeded. There is officially no room on the desk for The Momma’s arms.
Just another example of how miserable our cats are. Poor, tortured kitties.