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mousmeFor now, anyway.
Spent quiet day with Paternal Unit. Breakfast, then we were supposed to go for lunch at La Transition but it turns out it's only open for dinner. At least, it was closed (although the sign said open, the locked door indicated otherwise) and there were no opening hours listed.
We tried going to a nearby Indian place originally named The Taj Mahal. It too turned out to be closed for lunch, but only on Saturdays.
We ended up having lunch at a little Italian place called "Pronto" where I had an overly-salted spaghetti Puttanesca and a decent tartufo al cioccolato. My father had what turned out to be excellent mussels and a glass of white wine, while I polished off almost an entire bottle of San Pellegrino.
I later stopped in to visit my old friend NA, who just moved back into her house after a two year absence and is in a tizzy about the state of her houseplants. So I helped her sort them out and then we sorted through some of her old artwork. I've never really cared for her art: she's not remarkably talented, and this was stuff she'd done *before* going to art school, so it was pretty dismal. She kept trying to convince me to take stuff home with me, so I ended up with a nude and an etching of a slug which is actually quite amusing.
She was going out to dinner at 6, so once I had helped her with that she said she'd have to throw me out, and I returned home, where I've been ever since.
Am slowly but surely trying to whip the appartment into shape. Did my monthly thorough scrubbing/cleaning/disinfecting of the cats' litter boxes, and the room now smells much the better for it. Am going to Rockland centre tomorrow to investigate the ultra high-tech uberlitter that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
firewillow told me about, because this is getting out of hand. Poor Pan-Pan in particular seems to be very sensitive to cat litter, and I have yet to find one that doesn't seem to cause him some kind of irritation.
As usual, George decided that he had to go at the exact time that I was scrubbing out the boxes and yowled pitifully at me for torturing him in this unaccustomed manner. It doesn't matter at what time of the day I do it, either: his bladder and/or bowels declare at precisely that moment that they need to use the box.
Once the litter boxes were organised, he went into Hyper Bouncing Cat Of Doom mode and streaked all over the apartment, jumped all over the chairs, bit Pan-Pan, jumped up at the walls (a good four feet in the air I might add), yowled hysterically and generally made a nuisance of himself. He's now curled up on the carpet snoozing away as though nothing had happened, much as he was before I cleaned out the litter boxes.
I love my cats, but boy are they weird.
Pan-Pan gets more affectionate each day, I might add. Last night, as I was sitting on the floor contemplating the meaning of existence, burning some incense and listening to Allegri's "Miserere" he came and settled in my lap, draped his feet and head over my arm, and purred. So we just sat there for an hour and cuddled. I petted him, he purred, and George curled up next to us and purred too.
I must say, when you're feeling like crap warmed over, there's nothing like having a cat (or any furry creature) coming over and letting you know that it loves you more than anyone else in the world. Definitely a case of the warm fuzzies there. Especially as I'm finding human relationships so damned difficult these days.
Going back to the apartment thing, I think I'll have to get my act together and do a thorough cleaning job in the kitchen, which notably means clenaing out my fridge. *sigh* There are few chores I dislike more (the litter boxes are one, the dishes are another), but it must be done, I guess.
I also need to tidy up the rest of the apartment, and maybe start the war on cat hair again. It's a losing battle, but even desperate causes still wade into the fray every so often.
Spent quiet day with Paternal Unit. Breakfast, then we were supposed to go for lunch at La Transition but it turns out it's only open for dinner. At least, it was closed (although the sign said open, the locked door indicated otherwise) and there were no opening hours listed.
We tried going to a nearby Indian place originally named The Taj Mahal. It too turned out to be closed for lunch, but only on Saturdays.
We ended up having lunch at a little Italian place called "Pronto" where I had an overly-salted spaghetti Puttanesca and a decent tartufo al cioccolato. My father had what turned out to be excellent mussels and a glass of white wine, while I polished off almost an entire bottle of San Pellegrino.
I later stopped in to visit my old friend NA, who just moved back into her house after a two year absence and is in a tizzy about the state of her houseplants. So I helped her sort them out and then we sorted through some of her old artwork. I've never really cared for her art: she's not remarkably talented, and this was stuff she'd done *before* going to art school, so it was pretty dismal. She kept trying to convince me to take stuff home with me, so I ended up with a nude and an etching of a slug which is actually quite amusing.
She was going out to dinner at 6, so once I had helped her with that she said she'd have to throw me out, and I returned home, where I've been ever since.
Am slowly but surely trying to whip the appartment into shape. Did my monthly thorough scrubbing/cleaning/disinfecting of the cats' litter boxes, and the room now smells much the better for it. Am going to Rockland centre tomorrow to investigate the ultra high-tech uberlitter that
firewillow told me about, because this is getting out of hand. Poor Pan-Pan in particular seems to be very sensitive to cat litter, and I have yet to find one that doesn't seem to cause him some kind of irritation.As usual, George decided that he had to go at the exact time that I was scrubbing out the boxes and yowled pitifully at me for torturing him in this unaccustomed manner. It doesn't matter at what time of the day I do it, either: his bladder and/or bowels declare at precisely that moment that they need to use the box.
Once the litter boxes were organised, he went into Hyper Bouncing Cat Of Doom mode and streaked all over the apartment, jumped all over the chairs, bit Pan-Pan, jumped up at the walls (a good four feet in the air I might add), yowled hysterically and generally made a nuisance of himself. He's now curled up on the carpet snoozing away as though nothing had happened, much as he was before I cleaned out the litter boxes.
I love my cats, but boy are they weird.
Pan-Pan gets more affectionate each day, I might add. Last night, as I was sitting on the floor contemplating the meaning of existence, burning some incense and listening to Allegri's "Miserere" he came and settled in my lap, draped his feet and head over my arm, and purred. So we just sat there for an hour and cuddled. I petted him, he purred, and George curled up next to us and purred too.
I must say, when you're feeling like crap warmed over, there's nothing like having a cat (or any furry creature) coming over and letting you know that it loves you more than anyone else in the world. Definitely a case of the warm fuzzies there. Especially as I'm finding human relationships so damned difficult these days.
Going back to the apartment thing, I think I'll have to get my act together and do a thorough cleaning job in the kitchen, which notably means clenaing out my fridge. *sigh* There are few chores I dislike more (the litter boxes are one, the dishes are another), but it must be done, I guess.
I also need to tidy up the rest of the apartment, and maybe start the war on cat hair again. It's a losing battle, but even desperate causes still wade into the fray every so often.
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no subject
Date: 2002-12-21 04:44 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-12-21 05:00 pm (UTC)Actually, I don't really believe that. Somehow it seems to increase exponentially with the number of cats. Sometimes I think they conspire and encourage each other to poop more.
The cat hair is something I've all but given up on. *sigh*