fur covered joy
Thank goodness for the broadband elves whose magic enables working from home and hanging out with one’s furry flatmate. The Fat Furball, Giant Ginger George, Dr George O’Malley, Georgie Porgie; on pain of sounding like crazy cat lady, George is fur covered joy.
I love that when I come home, I’m required to scratch behind his ears for a good five minutes before he’s over being abandoned for the day and can get back to the serious business of eating. I even love that the idea that something bad could happen to him makes me horribly sad.
When it’s sleepytime, I wander down the hallway for teeth-cleaning and jama-doning and after a few minutes, listen to him howl alone in the darkened lounge room. After a few minutes of yelling “head towards the light Georgie” he will pop up beside me and settle down for the night. He does this every freakin’ night. Yeah, I’m thinking of renting him out for parties. The amusement never ends.
Hello, I'm Sas Petherick. I'm a self-doubt researcher, coach and podcaster who helps thinking humans transcend self-doubt. If you'd like to receive these posts in your inbox please subscribe here (with bonus info and first notice of opportunities to work with me). PS: I totally ♥ Instagram - join me there?