(no subject)

Another day, another... I don't know what to write today, I don't know what to say today but I promised myself I would write daily so this is it. It may be 15 minutes of I don't know what to write about. I can't think of what to say. I don't know what to say. I don't want this to become dredging over of things that upset me in my life. I will not let it become me raging against the world or ragging on it. It is likely to be one very looooooooooooooooong paragraph. I am going to let my fingers do the marching over the keyboard and see what comes up. Maybe a Haiku? Doubtful. Maybe a new chapter? Or at least the beginning of it? Again doubtful. Words? For sure. Do they say much, doubtful? I sent an egift card to Eileen to give to Jaden for his birthday. He is 12. Today is his day. Molly, the cat, just plopped herself down in her favorite position. Between me and the keyboard for a nice winter nap. I love having her here, except for the fact that she makes typing just enough more difficult to be annoying. Four minutes gone. Her nose turns white the deeper into sleep she falls. I don't know if this is the natural order for cats with pink noses, or not. She snuggles in, her head resting on my upper arm, her body stretched on the desk in front of me. Sometimes she will cover her nose with her front paws and that melts my heart. Sometimes she looks up at me with her green-gold eyes and nips at me for being here. That does not melt my heart. She is a calico. She is 5 years old. I have had her for 4 1/2 of those years. She is a rescue. We went out to get a black cat we had seen on the BCCHS website and came home with her. The black one was cute enough and a female, which we wanted, but Molly just had that certain something. Well, actually, she came right up to Sarah and asked to be taken in her arms. That clinched it. Molly, the name given her, came home with us. She had been adopted before but returned to the shelter because someone in her new home turned out to be allergic to cats. Not the case for us. Their loss was our gain. She is terribly spoiled, is Queen of her empire, is the cat Mother always wanted but never got. She is content to spend most of the day snuggled in my arms, on my lap, in my face. She allows me to pet her, even rub her belly more than the normal 3.5 times. She follows ahead of me all the time and then gets pissy when she looks back to make sure I am leading and discovers I have turned in to the laundry room rather than the destination she had chosen. She sleeps at the foot of my bed most nights. In the winter she will consent to be under the covers to keep warm. Unless of course, I toss around too much. Then she hops off the bed in a huff and doesn't return until about the time I get up. Those days I find her with her head on my pillow purring into my ear. Good lord, my 15 is up. I wouldn't stop except I looked at the clock. Now I am intimidated.