Fresh Out of Chopin...

but that's not true, really, I'm flush with Chopin, that's just a line from Dexter that has been stuck in my head for the last hour.
What's going on? It's 8:35 and I need to take out the trash, fill the birdfeeder, maybe walk Steve, and think about starting to prepare dinner. Also, I need to pump up the tires on the mountain bike, adjust the new SRAM rear derailleur, and basically ready her for riding to work tomorrow. I was just looking at racks on the Performance website, thinking I'll get a rack for toting and whatnot. That makes me feel a little geeky, old and perhaps too practical. Then again, the thought of not always toting things on my back when riding is seeming more and more attractive. Oscar the cat just jumped up onto the desk and sat on the mouse as though he were hoping to hatch it. I have relocated him to my lap where he now purrs loudly and vigorously noses my left wrist. He's a hell of a noser, this guy. And a headbutter, wait, head-butter ??? he likes to head butt me...should that be spelled "but" or "butt"? He loves me, maybe too much, shadows me constantly, and must sleep curled into my side pretty much every night. He woke me around 2 or 3 the other morning, staring at me and purring loudly, then head butted me several times, nosed my eye hard and then nosed my ear, which is alternately moist, pleasant, and disturbing.
Wow, I thought I might write about my disgust with crime in Richmond yet again, but somehow it's turned a different course. I gush on about my my pets, my de-facto kids, and you know what, I think having a dog or a cat or whatever domesticated animal you choose to snuggle with is pretty fucking great because they just are what they are, depending on us in usual circumstances, to take care of them, and in return tell us that they think we're great, licking our faces, wagging their tails, purring their approval, or nosing the hell out of our ears...