Some days I think I'm just talked out.
Sure, I could write here. I could grouse, grumble, or whatever it is that is on my mind. But, then what?
Instead I've decided you need a picture of a cat. Well, two of them.
Here's one of him yawning.
You see, doing this keeps me from getting in trouble. They're cat pictures -- what could possible be bad about that?
Besides, what's going on in his head?
Other than lack of oxygen, I suppose.
Obviously, I worried when he first arrived. He had another cat at his original home and, sometimes, cats miss that companionship. Plus he was so nervous from the change in home.
But our Squeaky Rascal seems perfectly content to rule this roost on his own. He gets plenty of attention and runs around all day.
And sleeps occasionally.
Oh and he eats. A lot.
So I think he's fairly happy here. He seems to have settled into a nice rhythm of letting the human (that's me) sleep so long as I leave him something to eat overnight.
In turn, he has taken over a fuzzy Yankees blanket that I've had for years. It was also a favorite of Chico's, but Rascal has truly made it his own.
For now, he's on a purply and white creation that was no doubt the work of my grandmother Jennings.
Now, does anyone know how to fix a USB connection on an outdated external hard drive, just long enough for me to get its contents off of it and onto a cloud?
Not asking for a friend. Asking for me.
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