Purr, purr

I finished this painting of our dear kitty just before the holidays hit hard. She's so darned picturesque, you know? Most cats are, come to think of it. And on days like we had today, a cat is a fine example of how to behave if at all possible. Find a comfortable spot with some filtered light, or make a spot if nothing measures up. Get cozy. Nap. Wake, and nap again. Look out any nearby window, be thankful you don't have to be "out there," and then drift off once more.

Perhaps you're reading this from a warm, sunny place where you prefer being outside. That's great, but it's not that kind of day here. When I ventured outdoors earlier, I was pelted with tiny ice balls. They piled up, but not like fluffy snow—this stuff accumulated like the fake snow at ski lodges, all sharp and unnatural. I couldn't make a snowball out of this substance if I had to. And why, I ask, would I want to spend time surrounded by such an unwelcoming, unyielding surface? I wouldn't. Hence the cat example.

I only wish I could have napped. With a 7-year-old who'd already been on the sled, no cable TV, dirty laundry from holidays spent running, dishes in the sink from people home on vacation, and toys strewn across every flat surface, there was no napping here.

But that's okay. I'll leave it to the cat. Napping screws up my sleep at night, anyway. And I didn't have to drive on hazardous roads to a job today, so I'll count my blessings. I hope this post finds you safe in the place you most want to be.