Better not to know?

Cayenne perches in her throne. I wonder if she knows what Snooch has to say about Russian Vodka and the carpet ship…

It’s mornings like these I’m glad I can’t understand what my pets are trying to tell me. I mean, yes, it is clear that they’re indicating that it’s time for me to leave. They want free and unfettered access to their house. That was made clear when Cayenne started shoving a few books, blankets, pillows and sundry off the shelf above the bed. More clear, when said items started landing on my head.

Wickett has been practicing his snoring. He’s always had an impressive bark:weight ratio, but the snore:weight ratio really takes the cake.

And my dear, sweet Fiona… Must you really sleep on me? It’s a king size bed, after all… There’s a lot of extra room.

I don’t suppose I should expect my pets to respect my right to a few extra minutes of beauty sleep after a late night herding electrons. I mean… how are they to know I wasn’t just watching Sneakers last night for the 300^th time to amuse myself?

Onward and upward! Let’s see what this day has to offer… At least there’ll be a few miles between me and these crazy critters…