There are those who say that animals have no souls; these people are undoubtedly blood kin to the well-meaning people who think that something so formal and ceremonial as a funeral is supposed to bring closure to the lives of the living.

Our heating system contains a timer. If I'm up past eleven p.m., which I often am these days, it's usually the chill in my toes that tell me of the drop in temperature. My hair—probably close to two feet long now—serves as a slight blanket of warmth around my ears and shoulders, but my naturally chilly toes (a feature, not a bug, my family assures me, though Jeff may disagree) require a bit of help in staying warm.

Last night I lay in bed, half-watching the softly-blue moonlight as it filtered through the slats of the miniblinds and settled over Edmund, who lay with me, snuggled in the covers of the guest bed. The light flowed, soft, indirect, over white whisker and orange stripe alike.I could not sleep. There was no point in tossing and turning in a bed shared with Jeff. He needed his sleep. Better to keep my insomnia to myself, and let at least one of us wake up rested in the morning.

While taking a moment away from the vagaries of Ask Domesticat*, tonight's plans to see Harry Potter with friends, and the general mishmash that occurs during a lazy weekend, I would like to make the following observation.

A photo unearthed this weekend proves once and for all that no matter how big the kitties get, they're not that much different than the tiny little fluffmonsters they were when they were nine weeks old:

Stage one: amputating Aggressive Floral Wallpaper™ from the wall. (For complete understanding of my hatred and loathing, see the entry from two days ago.)

So. I have to ask. Is it possible to get any more comfortable than what's shown in this photo, or has Tenzing managed to reach some kind of pathetic, heretofore-never-seen natural limit here?

This level of relaxation takes effort

You know it's impressive when even the seasoned, hardened cat tender walks in the room, rolls her eyes, and says, "You're awful, Tenzing. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Pretty simple, really: shelves make me purr, Edmund hide, Tenzing deathly curious, and Jeff wish he could sit on the couch and do something else for a while.

Funny to think that I've been waiting three years to get all this figured out, when it seems so obvious now. Shelves, shelves, everywhere. Then, toss in enough furniture to make the room respectable, plus a few tables and some nice lighting, and suddenly you've got a room that isn't ignored, but enjoyed.