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...and saw the driving dog walker again. This time it was a bit darker, and all we saw of the dog was a spectral, red, glowstick-like collar floating through the air. I don't have any visual confirmation that there was an actual, corporeal canine there; it may well have been ghost dog walkies. I think I like it that way better.

We've got a fairly involved renovation in Sticky Hall. Laminate flooring in most rooms, one rug at a time, one room at a time. We've done the former kittenery (I should probably post some pics of that), and have moved on to the front room, formerly home to a criminally green-blue rug with light pepto-pink walls (someone with a nightmarish sense of color occupied the house before us). The logistics of the flooring in this room are a little challeging, as we have a large sofa, a loveseat, and a bigheavyass upright piano that all have to be moved. As of last night, we have 2/3 of the former carpet removed, that same 2/3 cleaned, sealed, and primed; and exactly 1/2 the floor complete.

We were a little worried about the whole floor business, that is, how the cats would react to it. In one way, we hope that they find it much less desirable to pee on. In another, we hope they're all cool with walking, running, lying, rolling, et al, on it.

So last night, I hear a strange crackling noise from the formerly-clown's-bodily-emission-colored-nightmare room. Now, we have 3 cats and a room full of tools, laminate scraps, plastic bags, etc, so I know that at least one cat is going to mess with at least one thing in that room. If you have a pet and you hear a noise in the house, 99% of the time, you know that pet is involved. But when I looked in, I saw zero cats and zero things moving. Whatever. I went back to doing other stuff. But I kept hearing this noise. What the hell? Plastic bags? Wrapper from laminate boxes? A small laminate piece skittling across the floor? Each time I looked, no cat, no movement, no nothing. Fine. I turned out the light and waited quietly.

In galumphs Maya, at full fat and furry speed, onto the new floor. The crackling sound is her claws on the new laminate. She spins, sliding to a stop, and scrabbles her way back into the kitchen at full speed. Then she comes in again, spinning, sliding, and bolting back out. And again.

I laughed when I realized: she liked it. The spinning, sliding... oh, God... we're doing the whole house in laminate... this could get quite ridiculous. Certainly it's going to make messing with them via laser pointer a lot more interesting.

In other news, Lena and I have been periodically getting up and going for early-morning exercise/wake-up walks in the park. Theoretically we would (and should!) walk every day, but we're both not morning people, and the whole getting-up-early thing does not come easily, nor regularly. But some days, we manage: get up, throw on something suitable (it hasn't been too cold for shorts yet), and go walk for 45 minutes or so.

The first time we went, we saw a large, powerful-looking dog, mostly rottweiler but a little larger than usual, so maybe some great dane thrown in (that had to be an angry, angry breeding session). He was running along, about thirty yards off the road, and there was a guy in a car driving along at about the same speed. Okay, I said. Guy trying to get his dog back into his car, dog maybe romping a bit longer than the owner wants. No big deal. We walked on. Later, as we move along into the dark part of the road, near the river on the southwest side of the park, the car appeared on the turn in front of us, with the dog galloping beside the car. They passed us with no fanfare; indeed, the dog was happily tearing along the road, too busy to worry about us.

Lena laughed. "He's walking his dog, isn't he?" Then I laughed too.

We've seen them each time we've walked... and it's still funny.