We slept better in the days before Hank arrived.
Look at the timestamp for heaven's sake. There's no sign of sun whatsoever outside, only the faint roar of jet engines on the way to DCA (good Lord, what time did they have to get up?).
I know Linds hears those engines. She's awake too. But she's determined to get back to sleep. Or maybe just more determined than me.
See, back in the long-ago time when we were a one-cat household, nights were largely peaceful. When I went to bed, our bedroom door was shut. The only time we had to open it was when we heard Grace really screw up and knock something over or the first time we got a visit from a new neighbor cat. Whew, Grace was pissed that night; thankfully the glass door to the deck held up well.
Bringing home Hank changed all of that.
We had no other place to put Hank's litter box, so it's in the bathroom just off of our bedroom.
So that means we have to leave the door open. All night. Any cat can come and go as he/she pleases.
At some point earlier tonight, I kicked Grace off the bed. She usually doesn't bother us, but that's still a more frequent occurrence than it used to be.
Hank employs the litter box (in theory, see below) at least once when we're sleeping, and that's if we're lucky. And his visits aren't quick in-and-out deals; they're full-blown melodramas. There's no sound as he's doing his thing, but afterward, the cacophony is stunning.
He can't cover his pee with three well-placed flicks of his paw. Nope, it's got to be seven or eight. And by then, he's hit the bottom of the litter box, so he's scraping against plastic. Then, as he did earlier this morning, he may get out of his box, stand on his hind legs to reach inside and dig himself a hole. With both front paws. Finding the bottom quickly.
He's in there right now. I just counted seven swipes with his paw, then a break. That's less than an hour after his peeing adventure that woke us both up initially.
Could we shut the door all night? Probably, but we have a hard enough time getting Hank to pee in his litter box. Lord knows what kind of presents the morning would bring if we were to limit access to his box.
Within the past two months, we moved the water dish into the computer room, about four feet to my right. Hank couldn't seem to be quiet about that, either. No, before virtually every drink - and sometimes multiple times during drinking sessions - Hank finds it necessary to run his paw over the rim of the dish.
We're left with an audible 'ting, ting, ting, ting' which, when describing it, doesn't sound bad. But when you hear 10-20 times a night and it wakes you from your sleep, it becomes a new sort of water torture.
That's why, when we're out house hunting, we look at even the crappiest places with a sense of longing.
Three levels? Imagine the peacefulness.
We simply cannot wait.
-- LASTLY, a few videos for you.
This one was posted over at LiveATC and I couldn't resist the temptation to post it here. A Russian-built plane uses every last inch of the runway to get airborne in Australia - and I do mean every last inch.
The commentary from the Aussie cameraman is hilarious, too.
Secondly, I've never seen anything like this. Ever. And I've driven in some really difficult driving conditions.