Garfield in today's paper and I couldn't resist. Both our cats are Garfields, but Dusty is the main man. I'm now resigned to getting up anywhere from 2:30 to 4:30 a.m. to feed him. Doesn't seem to matter how much I give him before we go to bed, he still must have this mid-night feeding. And it doesn't seem to matter how I try to hide from him, how I pretend to be asleep, he is very persistent, with his head just inches from my face, meowing a flat and very annoying meow at me, insisting I open my eyes and prove to him I'm awake. Too often, I cave and get up, as much to go to the john as to satisfy him. And since I'm already up, I may as well go to the kitchen and feed the beast. Yeah, "if cats ruled the world?" Oh, yeah, they do.
And while I'm on the subject of cats and my being a subject of the ruling species, here's a picture I took accidently about thirty years ago. It's a double exposure that came out interestingly effective. The green-eyed cat is Dipper, and the ghost behind him is me. But it's unusual that my right sideburn is perfectly aligned with the middle of Dipper's face, and the glasses behind us seem to have been from some long-ago Thanksgiving meal.
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