sit.

I'm housesitting right now for my friend Dr. Homie. He and his wife are in the Philippines, presumably living it up, possibly getting typhooned. I am in his delightful Eastside home, sharing a bedroom with a cat, a dog, and a series of spiders who are perfectly happy to mind their own business as long as I'm on board with that plan.

The cat is a handsome longhaired gentleman, white with black patches, including a fetching smudge on his nose which gives him a studious, ink-spattered appearance, like an 18th Century London novelist staying up late nights to finish his latest masterpiece. He enjoys snuggling, chirping fetchingly for kibble, and, due to an unfortunate combination of inflammatory bowel disease and food allergies, recreational vomiting of the kibble he consistently begs for. His nickname, due to dignity, poise, and a dramatic familial last name, is "Detective Jack."

The dog is small, chubby, and idiosyncratic. Best guesses peg her as a cross between a Chihuahua and a Pomeranian - Chihuahua swagger accentuated with spitz plushness makes her a highly desirable commodity. She washes her face like a cat, refuses to walk farther than a block, and spends nights snuggled up next to my thigh, a minuscule, fluffy hot water bottle with a good attitude. She enjoys coconut chips, belly rubs, and performing a trick called "kiss-kiss," which is really more of a love-bite than a kiss and which she will perform only on me and Dr. Homie's wife, never on Dr. Homie himself, being, as she is, a discriminating sort of dog. Her nickname, due to a combination of large, antenna-like ears and enormous eyeballs, is "Mosquito Face."

Though I am infested with awesome, I am also plagued by low self-esteem at times. However, the fact that every single one of my friends who has pets has at some point requested that I housesit for them - that makes me feel like I've got something going for me.