As comforting as the dull roar of space

stinky (affectionate)

idiot (affectionate)

Women have always been at the forefront of literature, the first novel (what we would consider a novel in modern terms) was written by a woman (Lady Muraskai’s the Tale of Genji in the early 1000s) take your snide “Isaac Asimov” reblogs and stick it

even in terms of male scifi authors, asimov was predated by Jules Verne, HG Wells, George Orwell, you could have even cited Poe or Jonathan Swift has a case but Asimov?

become sexier than THIS?

yes

however we recently got her a new ceramic fountain that better suits her aesthetic

and her own fainting couch

but she still prefers a good lap whenever possible

Sometimes I have an entire conversation with Ripley before stepping back and realizing how cool that is.

I arrive home late from a potluck and the house is dark. From the bottom of the stairs I say, "Hey Ripley, I'm back."

"Wanna come out," he answers, which is a pretty standard reply when I first get home. It's midnight, way past his bedtime, but he hasn't been out of his cage at all today because we're dog sitting my mom's very untrustworthy dog (with whom Ripley is unfortunately fascinated). So I say, "Sure."

As I walk into his room he lifts up a foot in a way I recognize as meaning "I'm ready to step onto your hand," so as I open his door I say, "Let's go in the kitchen." I offer him the chance to poop in the trash can, but he declines with a small clicking noise. I ask him if he would sit on a chair, but warn him that first I need to move Coat Shirt off of it (shirt is his catch-all word for clothing), and he makes a little "hm" of acknowledgment.

After he steps onto the back of the chair I say, "I've gotta go downstairs, can I leave you up here for a minute?"

"Okay," he answers as I leave the room.

Upon returning I say, "Thanks for waiting in here." It's taken years of practice for me to talk to Ripley like he's a person (he is), but now it's second nature. He gets insistent if I'm quiet for too long.

"Do want a carrot," Ripley says, leaning toward the fridge.

"I can get you a carrot." My usual reply when he asks for a healthy food. I hand him a baby carrot from the fridge.

He takes a couple bites and shakes the carrot around gingerly in his foot. "I like it."

"I'm glad. Can I touch you?" I reach out to pet his back but he gives me a subtle look: a twitch of his pupils and a fractional declination of his head that means "no thank you." Ignoring this is a serious offense.

"Okay, no touch. A kiss, then?" He leans toward me and squints: an invitation. As I lean back, he makes a trilling sound and smushes the top of his head against my face. "Thank you," I say.

After several more kisses I ask him what kind of bedtime treat he wants. "A peanut."

Found this little guy in the dishwasher