Some people find dust bunnies and old papers when they move. For me, scissors and pens vanish from my grasp, and lie embryonic and unseen in overlooked corners, until it is time to move or clean. Suddenly, they gestate, and every room suddenly births scissor twins and quadruplet pens, to my confusion and Jeff's annoyance.

(whap) "Tenzing, get OFF the fabric!"
MEOW! (indignant)
(sound of cat being tossed across the room)
(sound of cat jumping onto fabric)
"Edmund!"
(sound of cat being tossed across the room)
(sound of cat jumping onto fabric)
"TENZING!"
(sound of cat being tossed across the room)
(sound of spouse laughing) "Got help, hmm?"

...and so it goes, and so it goes.

After eight years, you get a little blasé about sharing birthday time with your spouse. Our birthdays aren't on the same day, exactly; just four days apart, but in a sequence that amused both our families to no end when they first realized a sequence existed. First Jeff's, then two days later his sister Lori's, and then two days later my birthday rounds out the series.

Sequence. Order. All slapping into place with a neat little snick, the sound of a previously-undiscovered hole in your life filling up.

For him: a book of linux server hacks. For me, a pair of sharpenable sewing scissors. Little things. For better or for worse, we're not the kind of people to make large productions out of birthdays.

It is a braless, serene Sunday, with all the men in my life dozing in different corners of the house. Tenzing has found a comfortable, shady spot in the reading room; Jeff is belly-down, snores-up in the master bedroom; and Edmund, having despaired of actually being helpful to me, has bathed himself to sleep on top of the guest bed, cheerfully dousing the dark green comforter with loose bits of off-white belly fur.

Edmund may not have been the brightest kitty in his litter, but he knows, with the intrinsic absolutism of feline knowledge, that my setting up the ironing board and scattering sewing implements on the bed means that I will, without a doubt, return.All he has to do is lie on top of the fabric and wait.

As soon as the dryer finishes drying the rest of the fabric I bought, I'll begin.

Time to issue some belated congratulations to Kat and Sean, as Saturday was their wedding day... (Click photo to see larger version.)

• 2:45 a.m. leave note for spouse, saying, "Trash needs to be taken out, and there's stuff in the master bedroom that needs to go out with it. Didn't want to wake you, so wake me up before you go."
  
  (This free-association cheezwhiz music moment is brought to you by the non-word "go-go.")
  
  
• 7:13 a.m. Trash out to curb. Much yawning, contemplation of annoyingly bright sunrise, thoughts of replacing cats with lower litter-producing models.