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I'm back from a roadtrip to Columbus to visit some friends, which I made with Pete and two other friends. And then another friend flew in to meet us. And four of us share the same two names. But besides that, it's really not that complicated.
The friends that we stay with own a wheaten terrier, which has done nothing for my complicated relationships with dogs. I happen to know a lovely greyhound, and a sweet and lovable basset hound. And while this wheaten was very cute and relatively well-behaved, I also found his innate doggy exuberance bewildering. "You're... you're such an attention whore!" I whined on the last night, as he pirouetted around me simultaneously seeking someone to pet him, play with him, and take him outside. "I will pet you," I found myself explaining several times, "but I can't do that when you're trying to climb me!" And so, I found myself becoming a dog-Grinch. I'm fine with the loving, affectionate, and fond-of-being-petted parts, but I'm flummoxed when the dog still demands more. I'm already patting your head. Why, then, is it necessary to augment this experience by racing around the house at top speed and then whining at me?
But now I am back home, surrounded by my quiet, well-behaved, docile cats. Cats who welcomed our return by leaving thin puddles of vomit on the hardwoods, and who spent the evening loudly mewling for attention, rejecting the laps offered to them, and then repeating the loud mewling. Cats who I have already had to rescue once from getting stuck behind the printer on Pete's computer desk, and who have left a thin coating of litter, kibble dust, and hair on every horizontal surface. Truly, a reward for my loyalty.
7:53 AM
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