My Schedule is Flexible

It's been a while, but the Freddy nonsense has not stopped. If anything, it has intensified.

Where most men, as they get older, start to lose their athleticism, this little blue man has managed to increase his without even trying. I regularly catch him successfully fitting his entire, very lengthy body into a shoebox, or very nonchalantly using his back legs as a pillow:

Other times, he practices his diving moves:

A Proper Burial

I walked into the bathroom this morning, and Mister Fred had done his usual food burial, this time after ripping a convenient hole in a sheet of paper he found near my printer (which is miles away from the bathroom). The floor, as usual, was a total mess, because he can't eat without dousing walls and floors with vittles.



I guess "Mixed Grill" goes on the list of cat food flavors that are unacceptable and poop-like.

An Easter Miracle

Though Jesus rose on Sunday, Mister Fred did not. According to this photo, however, he was trying to roll away my blanket with his paw.

Sometimes, nice things happen. I slept until about 10 a.m., and it was blissful.

View from the Top

Apparently, under this table is the most comfortable spot he can find to sleep this morning:

Head Snoring, Check it and See

Mister Fred has been pretty good the past two days with letting me sleep, and he hasn't done anything that is that far beyond the regular realm of cat craziness (at least not that I've caught on film). However, I have been waking up a lot with fur in my mouth, because he has been hanging awfully close to my head in the last moments of the morning. This particular morning, after a late night of working (and fretting over my life), I was awakened by vibrations of the very heavy variety (along with light sleep-meowing). I snapped this photo without much set-up, and am glad it captures the spirit of the event:

Inconceivable

I had to lock Mister Fred in the bathroom last night once again because he just couldn't keep his paws off my phone charging cradle. I walked in at some point early this morning to check on him, and this was the scene:



I think he has regressed and suddenly does not understand what the purpose of a litter box is. Luckily, it's in the bath tub, so he can't do much damage that can't be quickly washed away. Still, I am concerned for his mental state.

Princess Freddy

Mister Fred is sitting atop a lavender throw pillow like the royalty that he wants to be tonight. Unfortunately, he is throwing me irritated "I'm-faking-this-sleep-thing-to-save-up-energy-to-keep-you-up-all-night-again" glances, so likely this pleasantry is all a ruse and a foreshadowing of the sleepless night that is to come.

Plus, he's so anti-fancy that any attempts to appear dignified don't really land convincingly: