Hello 
I'm Siobhan Curran/Kisa Naumova, and this is my weblog. I tend to write about stuff like crossdressing, Macs, code, cats, wine and Second Life, but in general it's just an ongoing conversation about all sorts of stuff. If you'd like to know a little bit more about what this all is, I recommend starting on this page which has a little bit of info on who I am, and what I'm trying to do — or you could dive into my five years worth of archives if you like.
Otherwise, feel free to close this box and explore...
In My Day...
I'm not old. I think I've really got to get that one in before I say anything this evening. You know, it's not like I'm some kind of beardy-weirdy lecturer in their late seventies who harkens back to a golden age of feisty students and scarves.
But I just have to share a small moment that happened yesterday evening, while wwe were in the pub, discussing such things as industrial action (of which I've no intention of writing about).
The girl behind the bar (look, feminism aside, she was a girl — 18 year old women are girls), was explaining to us what she was studying....
"History — but none of that Markist stuff"
"Markist?"
"Yeah, you know, that political thing"
"You mean Markist Lemonist Theory?"
"Yeah"
Apparently that was the moment in the night that my wit peaked. And I never said anything funny again.
Pause
I have, if truth be told, a hectic couple of days. It's all been a bit weird and haphazard, to be frank.
I had a really odd dream last night — in which I was was travelling (sideways) in a lift in a hotel in New York, with two of my colleagues. Except one of my colleagues morphed into Nicole Kidman. And she was wearing a tux. And I was wearing a ballgown.
And then I woke up.
Rats 
It was just getting interesting.
That happened at about 5am. Reggie (who sleeps with me when I'm in Harrogate) sensed that I'd woken up and turned over, and crawled out from under the duvet to reposition himself round at my front again.
When I rolled over a little bit later, he did it again.
I think he doesn't like it when I turn my back on him 
A wee and a fag later, I was fast asleep again, woken rather abruptly by M and a cup of coffee.
Just as the pair of us were getting ready to leave her flat, Reg had Assumed The Position For The Day™ — face-down in front of the (now out) gas fire.
And it's that little image that I'd like to leave you with tonight, lingering as I finally get my head down for the night: an image of a cat, confronting the futility of his own (long) existence, facing-down the threat of a cat-shaped pillow.
I hoestly wonder what cats do during the day, when their owners are away. And I also wonder just how my two know that I'm about to come home, so that they can stand together at the door and scream "WE WANT TUNA MUM!" (in Cat Language)
Sorry. Miles away. Cute Reggie Picture™...
Emily S
Gus just prefers being on the stairs. I don't get it, myself.
We have exactly the same cat pillow and neither of our little ones will ever lie on it, either. Napkins on the dining table? Yup... Newly cleaned towels in the wash basket? A favourite place to snooze and deposit some hairs! The cat pillow bought just for them to sleep on? Nope... They'll stare at it for hours on end, but just won't lie on it!
Hmmm... Cats... Impossible to understand! Love 'em to pieces, though!