Meowing fractured my slumber at quarter to six this morning. It was so loud I expected to see him sitting at the end of the bed. He wasn't, so I got up, nearly falling down the ladder in half-sleep. A peek out the window found him at the front door, meowing like a machine gun. I'm tempted record it and post it online - people would think I'd looped it. Cats don't meow in rapid fire. Well, Trailer Trash does, and can't seem to stop. I opened the door and yelled at him and then checked the Sox score.
Back in bed and a fitful nap later and there's a clamour in the hall and the squeak of a door and from my perch in the Belfry I see TT creep behind the futon couch. I shooed him out the front door and checked the Sox score again, hoping it was different.
In other news, I've jotted a note and a rant on the wine blog, which had been woefully neglected, and the new belfry is proceeding apace.