flolloping in a sympathetic sort of way. Willomying may also be involved.

Wheee! I'd forgotten that the new couches were being delivered this morning, causing me to arrive home after a bloody annoying day to the sudden happiness of furniture acquisition and the contemplation of a future of comfort reading in the best sense of the word, unmarred by a sore butt. They're two- and three-seater versions of Ilana from here... big, and floofy, like the mattresses in the marshes of Squornshellous Zeta, and they make the living room look smaller and infinitely more cuddly. The old couches - the Evil Landlord's horrible beige sleeper couch, and my self-renovated two-seater of Granite Butt Creation +10, whose basic inutility was unredeemed even by my mother's l33t upholstering job - were put outside the front gate, to vanish within approximately four and a half minutes, precariously tied to the top of someone's car. Recyle Economy R Us. I approve.

The cats are variously oblivious to, intrigued by and afraid of the new acquisitions. I'd say it'll take about another forty-five minutes before the goldfish attention span kicks in and they start sharpening their claws on the lovely new surfaces. Feliway, I say meaningfully to myself. Feliway.

I'm going to pick a book from the Shelf Of Unread Reproach, and curl up on a new sofa for a while. Well, damn.