Pipsqueak and Pipsqueak

This past Thursday we went out for dinner (as we do about half the time these days) for burgers. The burgers ended up being great, but the highlight was the beverage selection. I usually read the beer menu by the descriptions, so when Mary announced "Are you getting a dead pony?" I had to go back and check the names. She ultimately had to get a cider, because it was Pipsqueak brand (and that, if you didn't know, is the name of one of our cats.) Both beer and cider were very good.

The real pipsqueak, meanwhile, has little spells where he has some trouble adjusting. We think that his main issue is the lack of space. In our Chicago place, he was able to run around like a madman and could sprint from one end to the other and back. Because of the size and layout of the temp apartment, there really aren't long runways for him. Instead, he has taken to totally spazzing out on two square feet of space. Now in reality, he did this some in Chicago too, but in such tight quarters it's much more obvious. His newest behavior is hanging out in a pillow fortress of solitude. As part of our move to London, The Firm provided us with temporary housing. Finding a place that allowed our little darlings was a bit of a challenge. When they ultimately did, a rather large deposit was required. Having not rented for a while, having the place be furnished, and not knowing how anal UK landlords are we live in a state of constant pet-monitoring vigilance. Unless we are sitting on it, the sofa cushions are all up. Also, we cover all arms and attractively scratchable bits with throw pillows, sweatshirts, or less destructible blankets. It's not the most attractive setup, but such is the life of the pet owner. Recently, one of the cushions of the sofa shifted enough to allow pip to get behind. He then when through a spazmo stage where he jumped in and out of this space a dozen times in five minutes, and magically he had created a workable hiding space! He may be dumb, but he's dumb like a fox.