Large animals are good

I’m sitting in front of this computer, typing, and it’s close to 5am, and Laszlo is lying on the cold wood floor behind my chair, which means I have to make sure I don’t move my chair back too sharpy because he’ll be in the way, and one of the things I do not want to do to our beautiful, gorgeous, fantastically athletic Alsatian-Malamute cross is to run him over with casters.

I like living in a flat where it’s possible that, because the dogs are goldfishing* Cleodhna, I will have to step over prone canidae if I want to get to the kitchen.

Thanks to a chance post on uknot, I have recently revamped my ambitions for cats, as and when we get a flat / house which allows us to have cats as well as dogs. We already had decided that we wanted a large cat- like, say, a Maine Coon. But, apparently, that sort of large tabby cat with a fuck-off huge tail and a ruff like nobody’s business, originated in Europe, so it makes sense to go for a Norwegian Forest cat, which is pretty much the same, except European and cheaper.

*: Cleodhna has remarked that, when she goes for a shower, she tends to find the two dogs in the hall immediately outside the bathroom door. She calls this them being her emotional goldfish.