Kitties & Kids

The kit­tens are just too damned cute. Real­ly. It’s dis­tract­ing. It does­n’t mat­ter what I try to do, I’m sucked into the “oh, look at him/them!” vor­tex. I got lots of purry cud­dles from both of them this morn­ing. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, they find the clicky noise of the key­board irre­sistible and think typ­ing fin­gers must be there to be pounced upon.

Zoë wants to play with the kit­tens. Moon­stone is fair­ly fear­less but does not want to be Messed With. He just hiss­es, and Zoë knows cats well enough to back off imme­di­ate­ly. Mica is a lit­tle more hes­i­tant and, in fact, is large­ly trav­el­ing through the house via var­i­ous pieces of fur­ni­ture in order to avoid the floor, which is Dog Ter­ri­to­ry. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, there is no fur­ni­ture path from the liv­ing room/office to the lit­ter­box. And the kit­ty food is on the floor in the kitchen. Short of build­ing ramps along the walls a la The Cat’s House, I’m afraid he’s just going to get over it. For­tu­nate­ly, he does find the need to use the lit­ter­box com­pelling enough to run along when­ev­er Zoë is elsewhere.

Shel­ley is still annoyed, but she’s low-key enough these days that she does­n’t attack the kit­ties or any­thing. She just hiss­es if they get too close. Moon­stone is quite curi­ous and wish­es to sniff her, but he isn’t stu­pid so he isn’t push­ing the issue.

We’ve dis­cov­ered that kit­tens aren’t the only ones who enjoy chas­ing the light from a laser pointer—Zoë nev­er tires of it, either. Shel­ley just looks at it, then looks at the per­son with the point­er like “I’m too old for this crap” and goes on about her business.

G’s upset. She real­ly want­ed a par­tic­u­lar teacher this year and got her. Yay! And yes­ter­day the school sent home a let­ter stat­ing that because of low enroll­ment at G’s school, that teacher is mov­ing to a near­by mid­dle school. G has her third-grade teacher again. The lady is nice and was very good about com­mu­ni­cat­ing with us, and G does­n’t dis­like her. But this teacher is also very strict and very aca­d­e­m­i­cal­ly rig­or­ous, and G did­n’t han­dle that well at all. The desired teacher said good­bye to the kids yes­ter­day and appar­ent­ly, there were lots of tears. G for­got to bring home her spelling list so she could­n’t do her home­work at first. For­tu­nate­ly, she man­aged to remem­ber all 20 words on the list last evening (and it’s pret­ty darned amaz­ing that she did so!) and I think she got the assign­ment done.

Hap­py happy—found the Bolling CD that was lost. It had been alpha­bet­ized under Ram­pal for some odd rea­son. But G also put Moxy Früvous in F and TMBG under G. Still work­ing on under­stand­ing that whole names and fil­ing thing. But then, I’ve know adult office work­ers (obvi­ous­ly not good ones) who did­n’t get that concept.

Yes, I insist that the CDs stay alpha­bet­ized. It’s the only way we can find what we want at any giv­en time. No, I’m not a Virgo—I’m so very Scor­pio that it isn’t fun­ny, and I don’t think there’s any Vir­go pres­ence any­where in my natal chart. The alpha­bet­iz­ing thing annoyed sam­bear great­ly at first, but I think he likes being able to put his hands on a par­tic­u­lar disk imme­di­ate­ly now.

The mail serv­er still isn’t work­ing. Or, tech­ni­cal­ly, it responds to POP requests, but I’m not actu­al­ly receiv­ing any email. Since yes­ter­day after­noon. Vast­ly annoy­ing. I do hope it’s fixed soon. I’m try­ing not to bug the sysad­min too very much. But what if his mail isn’t real­ly work­ing either?

I’ve spent entire­ly too much time read­ing back through some of my new friends’ old­er jour­nal entries. And any time I do that, I get the urge to respond to posts but feel sil­ly about doing so if they are more than a cou­ple of days old. But between LJ and the kit­ties, I haven’t eat­en yet today. Oops.

Cur­rent Music: Her­alds, Harpers & Hav­oc CD
Cyn is Rick's wife, Katie's Mom, and Esther & Oliver's Mémé. She's also a professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
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