I love this little cat so much...

This one was taken a few months back. In fact, last year. He's bigger now. But the point was: he's crazy...

...he likes water! Do you think he knows he's a cat?

(Drought? What drought? Tra la la. ... The photo was taken last year - before the water restrictions, I tells ya.)

What's not to love?

I blame the David Bowie Demons...

Oh dude, it really is true that each year you are out of uni more of your brain cells desert you or die or relocate into grey hair. Not that I've noticed any grey hairs on myself yet, but I notice the lack of working brain cells.

Either that, or the David Bowie Demons (who live in the ceiling) had actually borrowed my copy of Perfume - which you recall I was seeking in my last entry - and had only recently returned it to my bookshelf. Because I swear I searched the bookshelf for it before I posted that, and now, only now, can see it there, nestled up against Isabel Allende's The Stories of Eva Luna. Buggerations. But at least I found my book!

In other news, thinking about the David Bowie Demons makes me recall that just such a phenomenon was mentioned in that thing I fondly, indulgently refer to as "my novel". Even my mother has now taken up saying that I'm "pretending" to be a writer while also being a slave to cheese. Of course, if I would actually write something, then maybe it would be different. Maybe I should make the last so-far-unwritten chunk of the "novel" a Supernatural-style hunt for David Bowie Demons by the main characters (you will recall the dwarf Sam and the train-wreck Lola, who make up the band The Satanic Mechanics). Whoever said plots have to make sense? Also, why don't the boys on Supernatural ever hunt David Bowie Demons? It's almost like such a thing only exists inside my brain-cell-reduced head.

an update, of sorts

Geez, it's been a while since I updated here, hasn't it. Oops. Was never meant to be that long. I blame... ah, the cheese?

Anyway, first up, a question (or four): Did I lend my copy of the book Perfume by Patrick Süskind to you? Or was it to your partner? Or was it to my mum? Is that even how you spell Süskind? I don't know the answer to any of these questions. Please help.

Secondly, you need to know that t-shirts of awesomeness, Threadless are having a sale until March 12th. You may know them from such classics as Meat is Murder, Tasty tasty murder and Shakespeare hates your emo poems. My bank balance, of course, doesn't benefit at all from this knowledge. I have a new rule for myself: No black t-shirts (don't wear 'em) and no pale blue t-shirts (too many already). That should restrain me a little, eh? Damn that pretty 'Sea Foam' green one, now only $US10 plus shipping...

Thirdly, a picture of my darling Toby.

It's our one year 'anniversary' on Sunday. One year since I paid some money over and took him home in a cardboard box on the tram. I can't imagine life without him now. (No, that is not the cardboard box.)

He likes to keep his real identity a bit of a secret on the interwebs.

Coming soon, a picture of Toby, as Dalek.