Yeah, I'm Pocket Pocket, got...etc.
I've been struck by The Pocket Song. Long story, no time, sorry. Suffice to say--crazy wife, raised by my crazy mother-in-law, and cats. 'Nuff said.
Having an office cat is doing me wonders. I'm a born worrier, and ordinarily by this time, starting my third day in, I'd be falling apart, more or less. No matter that I'm getting the hang of the flow of the course, no matter that I've got a dear friend there with me as my boss, no matter that I've got a desk and all, it's just my mind working on me. I'm desperate to be competent at the job, and two days should be enough for anyone to know it forward and backward, right? *lol*
Pocket The Cat. Secret name unknown, formal name, well, I haven't gotten THAT close yet. Propriety in all things, eh wot? When I used to just visit, there was this kitten, a fluff of long grey and orange hair that hung around the office suite. The Boss, being a kind and gentle soul, fed her and would let her inside once in a while. Highly frowned upon in usual circles, the management is very forgiving. Fast forward 6-8 months, and this straggly little wanderer is a chunky little love muffin, all blowsey grey with streaks of peachy orange, like a hairdresser's highlighting nightmare come alive and quadruped, and a sweet purr and a definite need to be inside and on someone's work, lap, or comfy chair.
Being a cat person I find it infinitely reassuring that there's a cat nearby, should I feel the need for some grounding, or simply for some belly-rubbing time. Nothing can quite settle my nerves like having kneading paws-n-claws in my leg. *lol*
So, thus begins the third official day at The New Job. Time to make wee'relephant some brekkie.
I've got a Pocket full of love.