NOW FOR SOMETHING A LITTLE DIFFERENT: THE VIEW FROM OUR BED LAST NIGHT

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There is no deep hidden meaning in this post, or even a shallow surface meaning.  Think of it as penance, or atonement, for past failures to provide photos with my posts, which — I realize — a good blogger should always do.

Thing is, I’m no good at hunting up Creative Commons pictures that might be relevant, or even attractively irrelevant, to what I usually write about.  And I don’t generally run around taking pictures of this and that anymore.  (Our breakfasts? The cleaning ladies?  My hairdresser?)

However, I do feel I can always fall back on the four-pawed members of the household when the need arises.  Since I’m pretty sure I haven’t done any such falling back since the end of 2014, perhaps you’ll cut me some slack here and let me show you the five relatively okay shots I got last night of S & S.  That should be sufficient penance for at least four entirely verbal posts already run. Then, starting tomorrow or the next day,  I can babble on shamelessly photo-less for a while.  Thank you.

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Left to right: Sophie, who cannot jump high and therefore needs orange stool to mount her scratching post; orange stool for Sophie’s use; humidifier on top of air purifier (both for us, not the cats, although I suppose they benefit, too); electric heater (only used for daytime naps) on top of second orange stool (which is there for symmetry and because Bill likes lots of orange, not because Sasha needs it); Sasha, trustingly offering us her rear; she can jump, which explains why heater is on “her” stool. Blocking the view: footboard of fake Victorian bed I thought romantic when I bought it twenty years ago in my sixties. What was I thinking of? Hanging on to the headboard bedposts?

Another view.  Despite the bright light, this is really midnight, chez nous.

Another view. Despite the bright light, this is really midnight, chez nous.

SASHA'S CLOSEUP.  She's really the family beauty, but she just wasn't cooperating.  "Let's sleep already," she was saying, in body language.

SASHA’S CLOSEUP. She’s the acknowledged family beauty, but she just wasn’t cooperating last night. “Let’s sleep already,” she was saying, in body language.

SOPHIE's CLOSE-UP.  Sometimes she looks good, sometimes not so good.  This is sort of in the middle, but what can you do at midnight?

SOPHIE’S CLOSEUP. Sometimes she looks good, sometimes not so good. This is sort of in the middle, but what can you do at midnight?

ONE LAST VIEW, because I hated to turn out the light.  You don't think they get up on their posts every night to pose for pictures so nicely.  If you do, you never lived with a cat.  It's their cat-ness that makes them so lovable.

ONE LAST SHOT, because I hated to turn out the light. You don’t think they get up on their matching posts every night to pose for pictures so nicely?

Then Bill called out from the part of the bed I haven’t shown you, “Let’s sleep already.”  (We’ve learned so much from these cats.) So that was that.

Lights out, nighty-night.  Don’t let the bedbugs bite. (As they said in the seventeenth century when mattresses  — you should have been so lucky as to have one then — were stuffed with straw.)

Now one or both cats will jump from their expensive perches — we’ll hear them — and run downstairs to frolic freely in the dark, disarranging the upstairs hall rug as they go. What they do down  there I cannot tell. I don’t go snooping.  Cats deserve some me-time, too.