I know I’m supposed to wait until Blaugust actually begins before I start sharing pet pictures, but… about seven months ago, I lost my companion of sixteen years Lannister, my chocolate Maine Coon.
There was a mourning period. I saw him everywhere, out of the corner of my eye, in every shadow.
My son finally decided that I’d moped around enough and started looking for cats for me to look at. And that’s how I came to know Mr. Mittens.
Black, short hair – unlike the fluffy Lanni.
No. Mittens. He’s all black, save for a touch of white on his chest. So, time for a name change. He demanded to come home with me, and I always listen to cats.
Hey, Midnight! At the Oasis! I bet that’s original!
But it turned out to be the second most common name for black cats… But it’s his name now. Mr. Midnight. Monsieur Minuit. Herr Mitternacht.
Anyway. I’ve been wondering for awhile if flies could be thought of like gas molecules. If I just left all the doors and windows to the house open, the cats would get out, and the flies could get in. Soon, the house will be filled with so many flies that some flies will naturally wander back out again. So once the number of flies reached an equilibrium in the house, you could count the number of flies in a room, divide that by the volume of the room, and then you would have a ballpark way of calculating the number of flies in any given area outside.
It’s my Partial Pressure Theory of Flies, but it requires flies to fly randomly, and also, they must not be hunted and eaten by cats.
My breakthrough study of the Brownian Motion of Musca Domestica was ruined today when Midnight devoured a test subject.
He then threw up. Not sure how that affects the experiment.