I've had one of those weeks where things have just come together. They're figured out. I'm on it.
I'm (looks around, whispers it) a responsible adult.
Financial house is in order -- debt free living is in sight. Actual house is in order and is clean and tidy. Car has been repaired, inspected, and new license plates affixed. Definitive steps have been taken to secure better health (by, you know, carving some poundage off of my ass).
Work-related issues? If not resolved, then accepted.
I got back in touch with an old friend this week and mended fences.
I'm even SLEEPING. Without the benefit of sleep aids. (I'm not sure, but I think that it might be related to the fact that I'm not stressing out about the other things).
I'm happy. I'm mostly healthy. So for today? I'm queen of the my little corner of the world.
Except for one thing. (You saw this coming, right?)
I can't get the cat to stay off the dining room table.
She's allowed to be anywhere she wants to be with the exception of the kitchen counters (which she's not terribly interested in as of right now) and the dining room table. So of COURSE, right at this moment, that's where she most wants to be. I have walked out of my office several times just to find her giant, fluffy self curled up, sound asleep, on a placemat. While I suppose that I should feel fortunate that she's using the placemats, I don't. I think it's weird. I also would rather not have her butt resting on the same surface where I like to rest silverware, thanks.
In case I haven't mentioned it earlier, I should also mention that my cat is not the brighest daffodil in the flowerbed. Today, her tail is bothering her. I can tell because she keeps giving it the "Dude, why are you FOLLOWING me?" look... and she keeps jumping on the table to get away from it.
You can imagine how well that is working for her.
When she realizes "OMG it FOLLOWED me!" she tries to pounce on it in a ninja-esque fashion. I know because I assembled that table, and it's not designed for 14 pounds of pouncing, jumping, goofy cat. It squeaks.
It squeaks a LOT. Apparently, I am going to be getting into the toolbox to tighten some of the screws later. (Of the table. The loose screws of the cat's intellect cannot, sadly, be repaired.)
It's making me crazy. I think she's enjoying it. Here's what happens:
1. She jumps on the table.
2. Mad squeaking ensues.
3. I get up and go into the other room to see scampering on the table.
4. She sees me and jumps down.
5. I go back into my office.
6. Go back to "1" and repeat.
It's like a game. A game that I apparently keep playing -- which makes me wonder who the stupid one actually is here ... but I have learned one thing: She's the queen of this slice of universe.
I am merely the princess.