Saturday mornings. I love them. For a while...

Get up late.
Make a big pot of coffee.
Turn on Minnesota Public Radio.
Bake bread.
Fire up the laptop in the sunny kitchen.

Write. Import photos I’ve taken all week. Send some photos to my very patient photographer friend Rick. Wait impatiently for his nice emails back. Read the news. Read blogs. Surf the net for more information on my latest wonderings, wanderings and ideas.

Then it happens. Harry smells the baking bread, sees that I’m sitting still and have a free lap and — whomp! All 12.8 pounds of big, hairy cat are on me full force. It’s amazing how quiet and sneaky such a big cat can be.

Harry likes to type.
He likes to run his paws over the built-in mouse and highlight stuff.
Then he likes to delete that stuff.
He likes to put all his weight on my right arm and hang there.
He likes to bat the wireless mouse off the counter onto the floor.
He likes to stand with all 12.8 pounds balanced on about 3 square inches of one of my legs and turn around in circles. And stick his tail in my face.
He likes to be petted and told he’s a good boy. Over and over and over and over.

zx.,dvknz .,,,,

(As you can see, Harry also has a lot to say.)

After about 20 minutes of this, Harry has gotten what he needs and is on the porch sleeping.

I, on the other hand, am hot (he’s a warm one, Harry), I’m covered in hair, my coffee is cold and I’ve forgotten what I want to write about.

Make some toast, warm up the coffee, start the day.

G’night, Harry.