The love seat is due about 3pm and the car is estimated to be ready about 4:30 or 5pm. I have to go to Lowe's to pick up some filters and then to the Giant for groceries and some interim kitty litter.
We've had a young -- less than a year, more than a kitten -- tuxedo cat sitting on the porch rail the last few days. He's waiting for the birds to come so he can eat them. So far, they haven't been that stupid. He was there yesterday, so I tapped on the sliding glass door and he got down. At twilight, I went out to put water in the fountain and seed in the feeder and he shot out from under the pretend-wicker chair and yelled at me. I sat down in the chair and talked to him and he came over and rubbed his face all over me, marking me as his. He was still yelling, though. I was able to determine he was intact, very dirty, and underfed. I came back in to get some dry food and he eat that up quickly. Then he rolled over so I could pet his tummy and then he got up on my lap and touched noses with me. This is clearly a cat who is used to humans, but nobody's caring for him now. If he continues this during the week, I might bring him in to quarantine and have the vet come check him over and neuter him. Any cat who is dumb enough to wait for the birds to come to him probably needs to live indoors.
Yesterday's WashPost had some interesting bits.
First, one of the Arts writers posted his favorite 50 songs from 50 years ago. I was surprised how many I recognized, considering I was born in 1955.
Second, SF author Michael Bishop, whose son Jamie died at Virginia Tech, proposes that Norris Hall, or at least part of it, be converted to a center for international peace and crime prevention.
And third, a letter (scroll down) from someone who says the WashPost has stopped ghettoizing SFF books under that header and is finally putting them out with the mainstream.