And this is Thursday

So, the mammogram wasn't that bad. I mean, it's not fun, but compared to the gyn exam, it's nothing. Positioning, pressure, ow-and-hold-your-breath, done. It actually hurt more when I got back into the dressing room and could see the red marks on my skin, but it was really only a faint ache. And thus endeth the PSA.

The cats are still adjusting to my being out all day. And by adjusting, I mean not adjusting. I get home and Harold needs me! Needs me! OMG, love me!

Then Pan wanders along and says Mow. And he sits on my lap, and I scritch under his chin, and he purrs and purrs and purrs.

Then he's done, but Harold is dying! Dying! Give me love!


I do love them, obviously, but it's a little wearing. Can I have 5 minutes? Is that selfish? It's like when I spend half the night snuggled with Harold, and then when I get up and am trying to eat breakfast, he announces that he needs a lap. Excuse me? Weren't you the one lying across my arm five minutes ago, purring? And for the 2 hours before that? Wasn't that you?

Not that cats think about Then. They are all about Now.

I'm yawning so hard that my head hurts, so I think I will postpone further deep thoughts (uh-huh) and start the bed process.