Sometimes there’s just too much to say.
I’ll attempt to do a moderately sane recap of the past few weeks and then we can progress smoothly into the new year.
Tonight is my last night of cat-and-apartment sitting. I have really enjoyed both being downtown and also being with Carlos. He slips into bed with me at night and curls up next to my shoulders, usually wrapping his paws around my arms or nestling his head against my hand. We’ve resumed our routine, and for that I am glad.
I was furious at John one night after he insinuated that Carlos missed Jacob, but he’s since recanted enough to appease me and agreed that Carlos is a different cat for Jacob than he is for me. Alas, one major difference is the counter-jumping. In Chicago, there was never a kitchen issue for me. He didn’t jump on the counters, or walk across the stove, and I most certainly never found him atop the refrigerator.
However, John was telling me that one night, he saw Carlos on the counter at Jacobs, licking a stick of butter. When he heard about it, Jacob’s reaction was, “Wow, I wondered why that stick of butter was going so quickly.” No wonder my cat is so fat – he’s sharing butter.
Also, he snores.
I’ve really enjoyed being so very close to the heart of Denver – if it was warmer, I’d be able to walk to anything. New Year’s Eve, I had dinner with Emily and Madeline here and then we walked down to the bars and then walked back at the close of the evening.
It was much like last year. We were at the Ginn Mill for awhile then declared it boring, but were unfortunate enough to end up at the Sports Column, where I realized that classy is all relative. Madeline and I spent a good hour trying to evade a horrible, close-talker of a man with horrible close-talking hair who claimed to be both Nordic and then Puerto Rican. I dissed his Spanish and then told him I was South African. That got into the whole “what makes an African American” argument, which we promptly won.
Then the Nordic invasion of Britain started. Oh dear god, never cross Madeline Hosanna in a bar with history. Also, thank god for the first set of Irish the summer before our senior year of college. The Battle of Hastings. 1066. I’ll never forget the date.
Post midnight we ended up back at the Ginn Mill. Happily, we all found interesting men to talk to and the night progressed amicably. After the bars closed, we found another of our friends and took the whole party back. Coffee and bagels rounded out the morning.
A delightful evening.