Lazy Sunday afternoon

Tig decided to reclaim the title of most photogenic or die trying. He followed me upstairs as I went through old bags of papers to find phone bills so I can take the tax refund from the government with a true estimate rather than the lousy thirty bucks they want to give me. Turns out I’ll be claiming about four times that amount, and I strongly urge you all to do the same. If you pay your phone bills online, you can probably get at least a year’s worth of records to see what to claim. If you’re a Sprint customer, well, I found bills dating all the way back to 2002. But to the cats.

Tig followed me upstairs, with his, “Whatcha doin’? Can I help? Can I walk on your stuff? Can I climb in those bags?” routine. Yes, he’s very helpful when I’m doing housework. Except vaccuuming. He runs for the hills when that happens, and doesn’t come out until the noise ends. After a while, he got tired of helping and retired to the closet, which isn’t open much during the days of either heat or AC use, as the vent is right in front of the closet door and gets blocked. Plus, there’s the Gracie-has-IBD-and-yaks-a-lot thing, so the closet door stays mostly closed. When it is open, Tig often retires to the very top of the pile of comic boxes, or the shelves, where he has utterly covered a black sweatshirt with cat hair. (I did not buy it. I am not dumb enough to buy myself a black sweatshirt, not when I’ve had cats for, um, most of my life.) It’s his shirt now. And that is what he’s sleeping on in this picture:

No, Gracie says, I am the cutest one there is. And to prove it, she curled up and put her head down and snuggled into her sleeping bag, a fairly rare pose. They’re in competition these days. For some reason, Gracie has decided that Tig’s food tastes better than hers, and keeps on eating his instead of hers. I just shrug and switch bowls on them, and they’re both happy. Looking at this picture, you’d never know what a pain in the butt she is.

And now, off to bed for me.