Foolish things we say to cats, vol 17, ch 3:

"Oy. You do not want to eat my spice loaf."

Ridiculous. Of course he wants to eat my spice loaf; it's what this particular iteration of his many lives is dedicated to. It is, as Claud Cockburn said in another context, sole purpose of visit.

I knew Claud Cockburn's daughter, Sarah Caudwell the crime novelist; we were friends in that haphazard way that you can be when you meet as adults, spending hours blowing smoke at each other across a bottle or two of club claret and then not meeting, not speaking again for months or longer. She was, you will be pleased to learn, unique, as her books are: eccentric and unmissable, full of words, very much missed.

Being aware

It is International Cephalopod Awareness Day. I just needed you to know that.

In other awarenesses, I am aware that it is two and a half weeks since I last wrote anything in this novel of mine. That was not the gameplan, and I am feeling very behindhand. Never mind that my editor is cool and laid-back about delivery and such; I am not. ("Chaz, it's ready when you're ready," he says. Aaaargh!)

What with that timefall and the length & increasing complexity of the thing, I did nearly persuade myself that I really needed to read it through before I picked it up again. But I have been here before, I know that one, it's a snare and a delusion: just another way to practise avoidance and work myself into a proper state of worry, rather than the vague anxiety I have at present. Knowing so little about it, I can only be vaguely anxious; it's close knowledge of the text that induces real worry, and I won't have that until I read it.

So no, I shan't read it. Not yet. Not till I get to the end. I seem to have got bogged down in the middle of a fight scene, which is fairly typically perverse. Action's where it's at, apparently, but there's really nothing more boring than a fight scene. He hits him, and then he hits him, and then he hits him, and then...

I'm not much for car chases either, to be honest. Or gunfights in okay corrals.

Never mind, it has to be done. Let's see, where are we? Oh, yes. He hits him...

Mirabile dictu...

...I have just had both cats in my lap. Together. For, ooh, minutes on end...

Me, I was just innocently sitting there reading 'Hogfather' for my Pratchett course. With Baz comfortably settled, sprawled across my lap. Mac had been sitting on the set-top box, keeping his bottom warm. But then he comes strolling over and dumps himself down, actually half on me and half on Barry. I thought Baz would take a flier, but no; he just hitched himself out from under, perched on one knee and hung on grimly. So Mac takes the other knee, and they turned backs on each other and vigorously pretended t'other one wasn't actually there. For minutes, as I say. No hissy-fits, no growling, no poking at each other, nothing...

F-list expansionism

I need more friends.

It's about this time of day that I've read all through my friends page, and I keep hitting the refresh button and nothing happens, nobody's posted anything new and I have to go back to work unrefreshed. Conclusion? Obviously, I need more friends.

You could each of you recommend one of your own friends, whom you think I might enjoy and/or benefit from reading? C'mon, introduce me. I don't expect 'em to friend me back, I just need more good people to read...