Boy Oh Boy!

It's sort of a shame about my hating the zombies like I do.  I find them horribly distasteful and would dispatch one in a heartbeat if it showed up at my door looking for directions or a cup of human flesh.  But today, I found a little sympathy.  For, you see, I sort of am one right now.

Sure, I started on the second sock.  I spun more than even I thought I was capable of.  Heck, I even broke out the drum carder and blended two more batts of shetland and silk so that I could have more of the fluffy stuff with which to work.  But I did it all with lots of shuffling and moaning.  There was a definite lack of attention to detail and my eyes have that baggy, droopy zombie look about them.  I also didn't take a shower so I probably have a slight aroma of the living dead about me at this point as well...

I am tired.  So.  Very.  Tired.  It's taken me half the day to really start to see a pattern in my new roommate's lifestyle.  But I think I'm beginning to get a handle on it.  The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty is clearly a party boy, perhaps reincarnated from the wild days of the 70's.  He likes his Saturday nights and he likes them on the crazy side.  The Big, Fluffy Kitty and I are a bit more sedentary at this point.  We are the resident Maiden Ladies Who Are Kind Of Like That Old Auntie Your Mother Made You Visit At Christmas And Who Gave You A Nice Crisp Dollar Bill On Your Birthday.  (even when you were well past the age where a dollar was going to help matters in the slightest)  

So, while the BFK and I toddle off to bed, the AGK is just getting started.  We did our best to simply hunker down and ignore what was happening in other parts of the manse.  But it was impossible.  Furniture was being rearranged for his dancing pleasure.  I distinctly heard a drawer opening.  At 3:30 this morning, a few adventurous birds began to sing drunkenly in an effort to join the party and that was it for our being able to stay in bed.  The AGK was racing merrily about in order to find the twittering revelers and his path occasionally involved traversing the bed in which we were huddled.

I got up.  There was little else I could do.  And, predictably, this signaled the end of the festivities.  Prometheus greeted me happily with a trill and a nuzzle, then settled down for the "night."  

The BFK left for parts unknown and I did not see her again until full light.  I have every reason to believe she was calling some sort of authority to report my inability to provide her with a safe home.

He's young.  It's what the young folks do these days, I suppose.  But I think it's more than that.  The BFK used to be pretty frisky in her younger days...but her antics pale in comparison.  To be fair, she did not confine them to one night per week and that was trying.  But she did not move furniture.  I think there is more to this.  I think there may be gender issues involved.  I submit for your consideration this hypothesis:

Boys are different than girls.

I could be wrong.  It could just be that I am a bad parent who has an untamed wild child on my hands.  Maybe I just need to take a class or something.  I dunno.  I'm tired.  But I do have one little piece of evidence to submit.  It is really only the first of the data and I'm certain I shall need much more if I am going to win the Nobel for this one.  But it is a start.  I've also managed to keep the testing conditions pretty similar.  The variables, while not completely within my control, have been managed to the best of my ability.  

The first step in the process is to set down a pillow.  The second is to forget that you put it there.  The third is to realize that you must now leave that pillow there for all eternity.  Then you watch.  

First, we have an aerial view of a sweet little girl kitty:

She rests upon the pillow like a sweet little bon bon.  You could put that on a Christmas card.

Next, we have an aerial view of a rambunctious boy kitty resting upon the same pillow:

This is not the Christmas card you want to send to that maiden auntie I was mentioning earlier.  You won't be getting your yearly dollar.

Maybe it's just that he is all tuckered out from the non-stop partying.  It could also be the fact that there is a fan in the window just above and that the breezes across the belly are simply too tempting to resist.  Or perhaps (and this is probably the case) I am just so very tired and seeing potential research studies where none exist.  I should maybe sleep on this one.  Saturday night is past us and, if the pattern holds true, tonight will be a restful one for everybody.  

And he is, after all, a rather charming boy.  Endearing, really.  And quite handsome.  I can get used to living with a boy after all these years of running a girl's club.  I mean, it could be worse.

He's OK with the idea of taking baths.  A stinky boy would be a very bad thing...

SA