The flight from Sacramento to Atlanta was over 4 hours long, and I apparently drew the short straw because I had the middle seat. Obviously, that wasn't my preference but I made the best of it, completing the Sunday NY Times crossword puzzle on my iPhone without any Google assistance because the phone was in airplane mode (the hardest answer was "baseline vaseline" for the clue "This may have been the umpire's doing; Now sliding home is easy going"). I also had time to watch the film adaptation of the video game Assassin's Creed (it wasn't very good), and to my surprise, I was even able to watch the middle two quarters of Game 4 of the Celtics-Wizards Conference Semifinal game, although by the time I got off the plane I was pretty sure that I'd seen enough (Boston blew a 12-point lead and at one point let Washington run off 26 unanswered points).
I finally got home around 9:30 pm, and the cats were amazed to see me. After a week away, I think they just assumed that I must have died. Britney came by a few times to check on them, give them some food and affection, and generally keep an eye on them and make sure that they didn't die themselves, but they were home alone for most of the week. When I finally walked in the front door, they looked at me like I was Lazarus back from the grave.
I finally got home around 9:30 pm, and the cats were amazed to see me. After a week away, I think they just assumed that I must have died. Britney came by a few times to check on them, give them some food and affection, and generally keep an eye on them and make sure that they didn't die themselves, but they were home alone for most of the week. When I finally walked in the front door, they looked at me like I was Lazarus back from the grave.
My work, travel and activities in California are beyond the cats' comprehension - the very existence of a place called "California" is beyond the cats' comprehension. And to be honest, what goes on in Cat Land while I'm away is equally beyond my comprehension, although I like to think that what does go on is a lot like what's imagined in this song, one of my favorites from Animal Collective's 2004 album, Sung Tongs.
Leaf House, by Animal Collective
This house is sad
Because he’s not
Inside it
Where does he hide
When someone comes
To the front door
There’s no one, there’s no one, there's no one, no one
There’s no one, no one, there’s no one, no one
There’s no one, no one, there’s no one, no one
There’s no one, no one, there’s no one to say meow, kitties
Meow, kitties
Meow
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