Seasonal depression hit me hard and seemingly out of the blue over the last week. I thought I was fine, because it usually starts whacking at me sometime in September and I have been feeling relatively decent, but then — BAM! — it felled me. It comes in fits and starts, so I've made a partial recovery, but not without the help of my trusty sidekicks. One such sidekick, Onion, did a lovely job of escorting me through a particularly hard morning. He always knows.
I think I'm in some kind of deep like with this little girl, Lula. She's the bitchiest cat in the house, and she bites me daily, but I keep fawning over her. It's probably just December cabin fever.
The cats chewed a hole in the bag of quinoa, pulled it onto the floor, and then danced around in it until it rolled out of the kitchen, into the hallway, around the dining room, and under the bed.
Cats are my favourite.
Onion listens to my phone calls. He seems to recognize that I am not speaking to him and instead stares at the phone like he's listening very hard to the little, tiny person inside it. He looks a bit too intelligent when he does this, though, like he's actually an animatronic spy from the political intelligentsia instead of my overly attached housecat.
Shhh. I've said too much.