Grateful for Not Working

Ok, so who wouldn't want more money? I don't have a Shetland pony or even have a Porshe, maybe because I don't work 100 hour work weeks for that kind of lifestyle.

My work is relatively boring, and a recent podcast from Adam Carolla indicated that being in the middle of the popularity scale (i.e. not too good but not bad enough for everyone to have an opinion) was a good thing. Even though my job title is "engineer," I basically go to meetings most of the day. Meetings fall somewhere between watching paint dry and executing the boss's orders, like in Independence Day, so the ratio of intense mental engagement to eye glaze is always changing. While the result of my attendance might not be anything great, "it ain't bad." Never am I unwelcome or worse... invisible to the people in my field.

Anyway, I'm glad that my writing doesn't bring home the bacon, as I've seen some real winners lately. Sure, I love writing and taking pictures... of stuff that matters to me. Stuff that matters to other people has been increasingly less important, and I feel like the quality of my work would reduce exponentially to the number of "assignments" required per week. Maybe the folks who are really good can consistently produce. That would explain why Bob Ross could keep up "happy little clouds" for 403 episodes of The Joy of Painting. It's what separates us mere mortals from the Rowlings, Speilburgs, and Madonnas, who worked very hard to earn the title, "Great."

Realizing you're just average instead of great is a tough pill to swallow, but actually, being great isn't all that great anyway. I'm glad I don't have to make people care about what is important to me. My time and energy can be spent on those things instead of what's important for money. Great work most likely doesn't include cats in sunspots, for example.

3 Blind, Deaf, Body-less Mice, See How They Hide

We are so lucky in that our cats like the cheapest entertainment. They have spent time chasing, chewing, and storing:

Paper clips

Spinach leaves

Used Q-tips

Packing peanuts

Crumbled up Post-Its

You get the idea. On occasion, we buy them fake mice toys, and dole them out based on number of accessible fake mice vestiges in the house. "Vestige" loosely meaning anything from a toy shard to the mouse fully accessorized with ears and a tail. See figure 1 below:

Circle of Life: Photo by me

Starting from the top, we have a new mouse from the 12 pack I bought. If you go clockwise, you can see that the mice lose their bits until nothing but a mouse head shell remains. 

I imagine that the cats are running a torture squad or mafia when we're at work, as sometimes we'll find mice appendages in our bags or in the litter box. They would certainly have the time and the means.

Other mice have made their way in places that can only be described as "savings accounts," as one might find several carcasses in the same area. Uncovering the stash causes our cats to express several simultaneous emotions, such as, "Oh boy!" and "Oh no, 'other kitty' will get them first!" 

Or maybe Mr. Mouse had a deal to settle, and it's about to get real...

No Job Too Small

This is Zoe.

She holds down several jobs at our house, one of which is to watch the humidifier and note any gurgling.

There's also waking me up approximately 30 minutes before the alarm, fake mouse control, and policing the space-time continuum inside the printer. These are self-appointed jobs of course, but we're getting a deal at two cans of wet food a day.

Cat-nology inside.
All photos on this post are mine.

Personal Day

This is Kaylee, and she thinks she's a human. A human who uses a litter box.