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The magic of normalcy
May. 26th, 2007 05:23 pmI got Amalia Rodrigues cranked up to the max, sea scallops marinating in the fridge for the grill, a kitty snoring in the chair nearby...and at this moment in time, I want nothing more from life. Will. Not. Last. But that's okay, too. Knowing something good is transitory adds to its piquancy.
The last two weeks the roommate has been having her bathroom remodeled. It really needed it, as the floor beneath the shower was sagging, and the contractor did a lovely job, enlarging the shower and doing a nice tile job of the shower, bathroom floor, and counter. Lots of disruption, what with borrowing of showers and sinks and toilets, but the results have been worth it.
But Min, never the bravest of cats, goes into hiding for as long as the guys are in the house working—under the bed, under the sofa, under the chair, squeezing into spaces that will barely contain her Larger-Than-When-She-Moved-In girth. It doesn't matter how much poobie woobie talk I do, I can't convince her to come out.
Unless I get on the computer. The computer, apparently, is so much a part of our normal weekend routine that Min feels utterly reassured. When she hears the start up chords of the Mac, I hear rustling from under the chair, and by the time the keys are tapping, she's squeezed out and climbing over the couch so she can come onto the desk for a scritch.
Nothing can hurt a kitty when mom is on her Magic Normalcy Machine.
The last two weeks the roommate has been having her bathroom remodeled. It really needed it, as the floor beneath the shower was sagging, and the contractor did a lovely job, enlarging the shower and doing a nice tile job of the shower, bathroom floor, and counter. Lots of disruption, what with borrowing of showers and sinks and toilets, but the results have been worth it.
But Min, never the bravest of cats, goes into hiding for as long as the guys are in the house working—under the bed, under the sofa, under the chair, squeezing into spaces that will barely contain her Larger-Than-When-She-Moved-In girth. It doesn't matter how much poobie woobie talk I do, I can't convince her to come out.
Unless I get on the computer. The computer, apparently, is so much a part of our normal weekend routine that Min feels utterly reassured. When she hears the start up chords of the Mac, I hear rustling from under the chair, and by the time the keys are tapping, she's squeezed out and climbing over the couch so she can come onto the desk for a scritch.
Nothing can hurt a kitty when mom is on her Magic Normalcy Machine.