So Turns the Wheel of the Year

 

In the liminal space between this end of year cluster of holidays, I wish you the warmth and relaxation and coziness of Arya nesting in my lap. May the new year be bright, prosperous, healthy, and joyous. I have no great advice to give or pronouncements to make. May we all become the best versions of ourselves as we move into another cycle.

Office Space, Too Much Help, and TBRs

 

While I have a dedicated space with a standing desk and a walking treadmill, this is shared space. Turns out that during a pandemic, the entire house is shared space. As a result, I move around. A lot. Where I wrote yesterday likely won't work today. This is one of my favorite spots. The other favorite spot is on the lanai in the back. Nothing like getting to be outside while writing. Unless it's a bijillionty degrees and/or a thousand percent humidity. Nobody likes that, least of all my computer equipment. The walking desk arrangement has the benefit of air conditioning. Since I wasn't going to spend the going rate for an electric desk like Jeffe has, I made my desk from a couple of pine boards from Home Depot. I cut them to spec, took a router to the edges and corners, then sanded them down. They're painted with an unholy combination of Dixie Belle paint and Unicorn Spit. I used pink iridescent accent wax to stencil a jellyfish on the main desk, then sealed everything with Dixie Belle Alligator Hide. In this office, I like to keep my craft books close to hand for easy reference and to remind myself that most days I might actually know what I'm doing. Mostly.

 The main problem with the walking treadmill and the homemade desk is that I often have far too much assistance with my writing. (This was taken at the *other* homemade desk that's in the bedroom - it's green and rose gold and black Unicorn Spit. It is not my favorite place to write because its tucked into a corner and has me staring at a wall. It's good for focus, though, I guess. Unless I have 'help.')

Cats like to 'help' with reading, too, so it's possible I haven't managed to keep track of my TBR recently - I really lost track of it while Cuillean was dying and looking back, I realize how protracted a reading break that was. BUT. Did you know Sherry Thomas wrote more Lady Sherlock stories? I didn't. I do now. They're sitting awaiting me on my Kindle. But first, I had to HAD TO read every last Murderbot story I could get my hands on. So I don't guess I can call that TBR anymore. They're now past tense, more's the pity. Most recently, I was able to add Bright Familiar (Jeffe's second book in her Bonds of Magic series) to the TBR. Looking forward to that one very much. In fact, I think I know what's rising to the top of the pile for this weekend. Excellent.

 

Four-Footed Writing Companions

It's hard to see the void who's positioned himself between me and the keyboard, but that's Raven. He's appointed himself my newest furry writing companion. Provided it's not too hot. Or there's nothing interesting happening on the back deck.  He's not as experienced as the editors and writing companions who filled the position before him, but I'm confident he'll learn. Perceval and Arya want to be my editors. They've perfecting the art of walking across my keyboard. In Arya's case, she particularly likes to stand on keys. Just to make sure she really gets her point across.

 Crow likes to be in the same room so he can offer moral support while I work, but he's more of a thinker than a doer. He looks on from his sunny spot on the cat tree while I write. I'm required to pay a pet tax by skritching his chin if I get up to grab tea or a snack. All of this four-footed company is most welcome as our senior editor died on Monday afternoon. Miss Cuillean had retired from her position about four months ago, but out of respect, no other cat would take her place while she battled her final illness. Now that she's moved on, the younger cats are seizing their opportunities and I have all the furry contributors in the middle of what I'm doing that I can handle. 

The Day Before Christmas

Not a creature is stirring (except to change who gets to snooze under the tree) this day before Christmas. Arya and Cuillean want to remind you that the smallest things are often the greatest gifts. 

May you and yours find peace and joy this holiday season.

Cat Photo Tax

 

More pet photo spam! Let's begin with our beloved elder enjoying her life. I present: Cuillean blep.

Then there's Arya, she of the endless whiskers. She's having a momentary, but meaningful relationship with her fleece toy.

Then there's the youngest. Peseshet. This is the one who, about a year ago, darted across the street in front of me. She was tiny. She's still tiny, only about six pounds, but she's growing up fast. Two weeks ago at o'dark thirty in the morning, we had an animal come to the lanai screen. All of my big, strong cats scrambled ass over tea kettle to get in the house. This itty-bitty stripey kitten stayed out there, all floofed up, reading the feline riot act at the trespasser. At volume. Very unlady-like language. Whatever critter had come to the screen beat a hasty retreat. (Spoiler: When I set the live trap, I caught a possum. We parted with no damage done on either part.) 

Then, today, this little girl decided to exercise her hunting prowess and catch her own animated cat toy. Naturally, she brought it inside and let it go. I had to get involved at that point and rescue the critter.

 The animated cat toy was ungrateful.

Pets have price tags, y'all. Price tags.