So this morning I got out of bed, vaguely remembering that Ra had been sick during the night. With a sigh of resignation I made myself breakfast, ate and then came back to the bedroom armed and ready to do battle with cat vomit. I poke around carefully in the room, trying to figure out exactly where he was sick at. This takes me a while because right now the room is in such a state of disarray that it could be almost anywhere and I don't want to make matters worse by quite literally tripping over it (I will spare the details of the time my sock-clad foot landed squarely in a surprise he'd left in the living room). Finally I find that he was ill over by his food bowl, located against the wall at the foot of my bed. I'm at first pleasantly surprised to see that while he did leave a few small deposits on the floor a vast majority of it went in his food dish (which was empty at the time), making the clean-up process a great deal easier. Then it dawns on me with growing unease: this is the first time the little black bugger's tried to make my life easier by leaving most of his harf somewhere relatively easy to clean. At this point I'm not sure if I should be amused by this or not.
I think I'll choose option "C": Don't think about it any more than absolutely necessary, pick up the bass, get it back in tune and play that while waiting for the roommates to wake up and ambulate into the living room. If I'm right we'll be doing BD's Mongolian for lunch today, and that's always a good thing.
Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team
