One of These Things Is Not Like the Other
Mom and I went to a screening of the Path of the Panther, which was very well done, some sadness and some hope. The end credits played with the Bing Crosby version of Don’t Fence Me In, which fit quite well.
Then we stopped at Trader Joe's for a few things, and the sound system was playing Shania Twain's That Don’t Impress Me Much.
The two combined for a very interesting earworm for the next hour or two (and again now, writing about it).
Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above
But that won't keep me warm in the middle of the night
I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences
So you got the brain but have you got the touch
Life with Maggie
Having just eaten, Maggie considers her next move.
I suggest she might want to go back under the blanket on my bed, where she has spent most of the day, but she refuses to even come into the room.
I sit down on the couch in the living room, with a blanket on my lap, in case that's what she wants.
She sits on the floor next to me: no lap.
Eventually I get up and follow her to where she informs me that she must have more food. I put some food in the bowl, which she refuses to come near.
Then she jumps up on the bed and waits impatiently for me to lift the blanket up, so she can go under.
Cats.
But Will It?
I'm waiting for a package, and they're estimating delivery tomorrow. But it was last scanned by the USPS on Wednesday in Spokane, Washington, and though it says it's in transit, I would expect to see it somewhere in Florida the day before it gets to my door. Well, perhaps they will surprise me.
It's not like I don't have something lovely to look at in the meantime.