Marley has no use for anyone, as cats tend to do. Unless it is 7:00 in the morning and he wants his gushy food. He awaits me at the top of the stairs, having heard me stirring around and getting up. As I come out of my room, the meowing begins. Insistent, demanding. Sometimes loud and strident, others, barely audible, rusty, baby kitten starving to death without the strength to create actual sound. He dogs my footsteps as I move around my kitchen, putting on the water for my coffee, taking my morning meds and vitamins, feeding the dog, getting Marley his crunchies.
Crunchies he doesn't want. In the morning, Marley is all about the gushy food. He gets a quarter of a can of Fancy Feast Classic in a seafood variety of some kind. He insists that all gushy food be seafood; he will eat chicken, beef, turkey cooked or raw but won't tolerate it in his gushy food. Picky little snot. Anyway, until I get that quarter can into a small ceramic dish, properly mushed and fluffed just so, served up on his windowsill, he doesn't back off. How many mornings have I almost killed myself tripping over his little orange ass as I stumble around the kitchen in my sleep induced haze? You would think that he would know better than to come within a mile of me before my first cup of coffee but the pull of the gushy food is too powerful and he is totally willing to risk bodily injury to nag me into feeding it to him even faster.
My head is bad, this morning. It's so nice to have a cold and a migraine at the same time, lemme tell ya.
I remembered to move my hair appointment. This way I won't bring the plague in and infect everyone at the salon. I'm such an angel. I had to book for the seventeenth. I have roots-a-plenty now. My hair is going to look seriously jacked up by the middle of the month. *sigh* Oh well. That is what I get for having one of the most popular stylists in town. I get why she is in so high demand, she is good. And she respects how I feel about my hair. She never breathes a word of complaint about working with my masses of tresses, she never tries to pressure me into chopping my hair and she is happy to work with me as I grow it ever longer. And she doesn't charge me outrageous amounts of money. A roots touch up and tone is sixty-five bucks. Not bad for a higher end salon and the fact that my hair is thick and past my waist and needs precise attention to get just the right shade of blonde and not destroy the structural integrity of all of this hair. She is a treasure and it would be worth it at twice the price. My wallet is happy that it isn't that much, tho.
I wonder of those little fabric hoses are really as good as the commercials say they are? I should look up reviews and see what people are saying. They look good... And would be so handy to have around. I hate using the big, heavy hose we have, I'd love something lightweight and easy to handle.
It smells like pumpkin and spice in here, thanks to that candle. It must be strong for me to be able to smell it with my racked up beak.