|Saturday, after the phone call
||[Nov. 10th, 2019|08:24 am]
So, first, after Christine woke up, we watched Oceans Thirteen which dream mind made clear is like work. "OK, this will solve that need, but what about that need over there? Well that's just.... we're doomed." Anyhow, i will try to go through my workday assuming Sandra Bullock, Awkwafina, or Cate Blanchett will show up and have a solution.
Then my sister called. OK, were we ready for a new cat? Apparently a friend (with mother) of my nephew W had been to the grocery store and found a little grey kitten under their car. If Edward says he wasn't consulted in the future, it's a lie: he was in my lap as we chatted with my sister on speaker phone. Nephew W had asked my sister if they could have another cat but my sister believes the household has plenty of pets and gave a solid No. (Although, if you don't count the chickens they only have one pet per person, i think. But one is a horse. And you ought to count the rescue rooster and his aged hen sweetheart, since they live independently of the Blommehöna flock. Anyhow.)
The photo sent was of a young cat that looked a little like a Russian Blue, probably because it was taken in profile and the pronounced tabby M was not visible. Apparently W's friend named the cat Mephistopheles which prompted my laughter. While i am sure there are cats that might earn that name, i rather doubt it is appropriate. Christine hit on the name Marlowe (Mephistopheles -> Faust -> Christopher Marlowe) which seems good regardless of gender.
We agreed with my sister that she would accept the cat from W's mother, and would drive it to us. By the time W and my sister arrived, my sister had weakened on the solid no. The kitten -- maybe six months old -- purrs and rubs and rubs up next to one.
Marlowe seems healthy and sweet. She's a short-hair blue mackerel tabby with white boots on her back legs, white paws forward, and a white belly with a cream patch. It's almost as if the genes thought about a tortishell coat but got distracted. Her tail ends in a black tip. She's been in the second bathroom all night comfortably, and the amount of curiosity the household is expressing is surprisingly minimal. I think Carrie, our dog, is simply going with, "Cat. A Cat. They are in charge. Cat." Edward and Luigi have checked out under the door, but not extensively.
The lithe small creature calls to mind Greycie Loo, since of our six past cats only two have not had stocky tom-cat bodies. Grey Brother was a long-haired ball of grey fluff, so that leaves lithe and long Greycie Loo, who seemed tiny when curled up but so long ("I need the whole couch.") when stretched out. Also, Greycie Loo was our only girl cat in the past six cats.
--== ∞ ==--
Maybe today i will get some work done.
I went to bed early last night after we watched The Boat Builder which ... could have been better ... but was still a lovely glimpse of Pacifica, CA and Christopher Lloyd was a pleasure to watch and the dynamic with young Tekola Cornetet and Christopher Lloyd was charmed me. But better? Well, everybody else (but the gang of bullying kids and the county inspector) seemed to a script but not enough back story to make the words mean anything.
The night's sleep was disrupted with Carrie visiting the bed -- which would be fine, except she runs away when one moves the coverings around. Up and down, up and down, finally Edward left so Carried found a place to curl up where i wasn't over-warm for a while. Then Edward returned pinning me in a position where i couldn't sneak my foot out into the cold air to cool off.