Classical Christmas music, a fireplace, and a good book

I’ve got Pandora on a classical Christmas music station I created. There is a three hour video of a crackling, sizzling fire. I’m reading a book on the Kindle and a cat is vibrating across my leg. After about an hour, I reached down to feel if the cat was real. He bit my thumb.

The Brigand Schooner

*******Update*******

All six of the cat toy balls with the bells inside--that were rescued from behind the piano last weekend--are missing (see previous post).

The Brigand Schooner

While doing laundry this evening, I decided to incarcerate the brigand, Schooner, in kitty jail until he gives up the location of the loot. 

His brother, Hobiecat, is not willing to be an informer.

Potential Informer, Hobiecat

Admitting Weakness

Lately I've been posting a lot of deer pictures taken either on my way to work in the morning, or on the way home, usually late into the evening.  You may think it is just because wildlife interests me, and that would be partly true.  The whole truth is, I'm torturing my followers who are hunters.  

At work, Lake, or John, or Angela, or Tim will ask how my day is going.  I'll tell them about the big buck I saw, or the twin fawns, or the three or four does, and I'll see eyes glaze over.  Tongues snake out and swipe lips, trigger fingers begin to twitch.

"Yeah," I'll say, "you can see it on my blog.  I posted pictures."

The next day they'll sidle up and ask if I have a landowner tag.

I just shake my head and tell them about the young buck I saw that day, much younger than the big one I saw the day before.

"Where do you live?"

I'll just smile.

Come hunting season, I'll usually have two or three hunters offer to come fix something at my house.  Phffft.  I know the real reason they are offering.

They can't have my deer.

I'll probably still continue to torture them. It is a weakness.  I admit it.

Is it too mean?

Schooner

Schooner is a hunter, too.  I know because he opens my drawers and cabinets to hunt through them.