Weighing anchor into another bright morning!

...and what should I espy, after getting out of the shower and checking on the two cats, who'd rushed out onto the deck off our bedroom? Murder afoot! Or murderous catjinks. Rico was at the southwest corner of the deck, poking through the railing...at his brother, Simba, who was crouched at the very edge of the roof! Resounding scoldings and chasing off of Rico by me, a desperate dash by Simba back into the house. Of course he might just having been playing, it's hard to ascribe much ability to premeditate anything to cats. But they are opportunists...
The rains have held off, at least down here near sea level; there are piles of dark heavy-looking clouds over the Cascade Mountains. Mother got in two good walks, and I managed to have a good run and weight workout.
And now, in Moby Dick, Melville's described the Whaleman's Chapel, we're treated to Father Mapple's scene-chomping sermon, and there's a chapter entitled "A Bosom Friend," which details the growing friendship between Ishmael and Queequeg, as well as yet another whole chapter about them lying companionably in bed, passing Queequeg's tomahawk-shaped pipe back and forth. Hmmm. Smoking in bed. Well, I'm sure some kind of double-entendred stuff could be confabulated over this, but it strikes me as kind of sweet. It's beyond quaint to have what might be an innocently intended depiction of two men becoing buddies. I'll take it.