6:05am, and I'm in a little earlier than usual, thanks to a 4:57 wake-up call that came in the form of a cat throwing up a hairball all over the afghan under which Turtle was sleeping.
It's probably just as well that I got an early start, though. By the time we went to bed last night, the local news outlets were already whipping themselves into a lather about the potential for rain – and not just rain, but (oh my stars and garters!) freezing rain. My years in Texas have taught me that the more certain the weather people are that we're going to get all slick and crashy, the less likely we are to suffer any real meteorological chaos. But the majority of morning commuters don't know that, so I'll just be grateful that I didn't have to contend with their elevated anxiety on the way in this morning.
Coffee's probably ready, by now. I'm out.
The senses consume. The mind digests. The blog expels.
Certain individuals keep telling me that I should be a writer (Hi Mom). This is probably as close as I'll ever come to making that happen.
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Crying Fowl
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2 comments:
Oh yes, nothing like an early morning wakeup serenade of the noises a cat makes pre and during hairball ejection.
Of course, one of our cats is kind enough to drag it out long enough to hustle him to the tile floor of the bath for easy clean up. The other is much less thoughtful, and just heaves it up without fanfare. Joy.
Either that or the jingle of your cell phone with a very early message telling you school is closed...
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