One Cat's Seattle

Nothing says Christmas like a glowing plastic dachshund. Please, humans, never get one of these that looks like me.

I've been trying to deny it, but it's just no use. It's been driving me out of my head. Just look at that picture! It's been nine days since I found it on the file server, and still I cannot put it behind me. Seeing my domestic nuzzled and licked by another animal makes my coat bristle. A DOG no less! And it's not just that it happened... it's that she clearly enjoyed it. She loved it! Look at her, grinning, infected by the dopamine sunburst of that ridiculous retriever. I've been trying to deny it, but now she's gone again, to Chicago this time, and I miss her.

When she's here, I have such a hard time showing my affection. Now, without her, this houseboat feels as if it's been sapped of its life-force. Another day's murky morning light leaks in through the old shutters of the bedroom, and I find myself at loose ends, meowing and meowing at Mark, driving him out of bed, hoping in vain that he might somehow lighten my mood, distract me from the Void of my miserable life.

Actually, I do that even when Nancy is here. But you know what I mean.

My answer to the chill and gloom of Seattle's winter: a good day's sleep beneath three layers of warm blankets. Once I've driven my lazy man-servant from his bed, I scramble up the foot of the bed, slip beneath the comforter, and curl up. I thought at first that it might be hard to breathe under so many covers, but this hasn't been a problem at all. In fact, I've found that I can quite easily make it through all daylight hours in this new favorite spot of mine, from 7:30 AM to nearly 5:00 PM. I just hope my domestics are careful not to sit on me!

I have discovered a magic blanket! It was Mark's bedspread as a child, made for him by his mother. So far, I have discovered two magical abilities. First, when I am underneath the blanket, I am invisible to the world. Second, as I move through the blanket's dark interior spaces, a powerful static-electric charge builds up throughout my coat. My man-servant has unwittingly been the subject of my experiments, as I master the art of silently emerging and shocking nearby combatants with tiny bolts of lightning. Come and get me now, Himalayan!

Christmas Spirit in Seattle: chilly kayakers -- dozens of them -- gathered in a water alley on Lake Union, singing carols to raise money. Mark and Nancy had the pleasure of witnessing this remarkable event, singing along, and capturing it on film.

For me, a Fantastic Couch Day:



For the humans, explosive joy in the presence of hundreds of shiny beer kegs.


Why my domestics feel compelled to scurry about the city, exploring the places that prepare their food and drink, is beyond me. (This particular shot is outside the Redhook brewery.) It's this very curse, this undeniable need to explore, it seems, that drove them to drug me, crate me, and fly me to nearly the end of the continent; for I have found no other explanation. And it's not just my domestics that are afflicted in this manner. Their friend Rachel, whom I remember from Chicago, is also here in Seattle, and appears downright thrilled about it.

I fear that Washington's agents have found me! Maybe this blog wasn't such a good idea after all. Fortunately, the houseboat's defenses held up against the fierce attacks of this Himalayan, and I was able to drive her off. (You can see me behind the arm of the chair.)

It's raining again, and the winds have picked up. You can see in this video how much the houseboat is moving.