My Precious

I think my cat has slowly been warming up to me.  She's been more-or-less more friendly than usual these past couple days, and has let me pet her a little, even.  She hissed at me the other day, but I was provoking her, so it was understandable.  Too bad I'm leaving soon.  Otherwise we might've been friends.  Alas, she will soon have to flee from others' footsteps.  Such tragedy.

I feel a little like a hobbit.  The normal hobbits, not the Bilbos and Frodos.  I like the comfort of home and fresh air and familiar food.  I don't really want any adventure if adventure means going away and having to wear formal clothes all day, speak Spanish all day, and not really ever be alone [probably].  Too bad I'm not a character in a book.  Then I'd be at the author's whim.  In real life, I'm at my own whim.  But not really.  Otherwise, I'd be more like a hobbit.  But taller, and with more weapons.  And not as much hair on my feet.  Sometimes I wish I'd grown up in a much-too-large house where it rained all the time.  Sometimes not.  Sometimes I wish both.