Chairs

In spite of her advanced age (well if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black) Cleo still has a bit of spunk in her and proves it from time to time by displaying her climbing & jumping prowess.

These photos are from about a year ago and highlight the old girl's (excuse me, Mr. Almost-60) amazing agility. 

Check out the cool retro stool.  That one was a keeper.

We had some stools side by side and a glass coffee table nearby (translated: dad used to bring a bunch of shit home for mom to clean and decide whether to donate, keep and use or sell), and Cleo impressed us by hopping up and down onto and off of the stools often.

If you look closely at the pictures showing her straddling the stool and the table you'll notice her sagging midriff (once again, the pot/kettle thing), something we're still trying to minimize (a battle you're more than familiar with, Mr. Muffin Top?). 

So anyway, all but two of the chairs and the coffee table are gone now, but Cleo still occasionally hops up onto one of the stools, most often when we're eating dinner. 

If one of us gets up to get something she'll jump up and settle right in, taking advantage of the still-warm spot.  When we try to sit back down we don't have the heart to remove the large furry multi-hued obstruction (speaking of large furry and multi-hued don't you need to shave the salt & pepper sprouting around your waddle & jowls today, dad?  And while the razor's out how 'bout you have mom tackle your back forest, hmm?), and she certainly isn't willing to give up the space, refusing to budge or move over enough to let us sit comfortably.

Okay, I think we'll call it a day on this one.  Seems to me someone's in an A-holey mood, so let's change his diaper, get him his sucker and tuck him in for a nice long nap.  Sound good, big guy?

note: as even-keeled as dad usually is (he's a Libra) he doesn't sleep enough, and I think he's possessed by the crank demon this morning.