I was woken sometime in the night by a cold, wet nose touching the tip of my nose, and by the tickle of cat whiskers. I started awake, and saw Dinah nose-to-nose with me, wanting cuddle time.

She always has to wake me up before she lays down beside me, and she'll only stay a brief time, just a few minutes. But I'm always delighted when she does. It makes me remember Doña. I was thinking about her this morning when I woke up, about how she'd go to bed with me when I did, stretching out next to me with my arm around her, and, at least in the last few years, she'd stay that way all night. If I had to get up in the night to go to the bathroom, I would shift her a little ways down in the bed, then pull my legs up out of the covers so I didn't disturb her any more than was necessary.

So I cuddled Dinah; she never seems completely relaxed when she lies beside me, and she probably only stayed five minutes, if that.

Then sometime a few hours later, Pyewacket jumped up on the bed, wanting her cuddle time. She had probably tried to wake Bob up and was unsuccessful, so she turned to me. I held up the covers and she went under them, then turned around and came back up and snuggled up next to me. As soon as Bob stirred, though, she walked across his head and got under the covers on his side, which is where she prefers to be, and she snuggled up next to him while he fell back asleep.

I was thinking this morning about the bonds that people have with animals. I was thinking about Diehard, mostly, and how I'm going to miss him and Dave when the office is finally closed.

Dave had to go someplace yesterday afternoon, and since almost everyone else is gone--already moved on to new jobs or waiting to be placed as contractors--while we're still there working, he brought Diehard into our (my and Michelle's) office, said, "Stay with the girls," and left, closing the door.

The door is about half glass panes, so Diehard could see him walk away, and he stood there, bereft, whining softly. He finally laid down on the floor, which looks so awkward, sort of like a giraffe lying down--all those long legs. He never looks completely comfortable when he's lying down. Sometimes he'll come around behind my desk and try to fit himself in between the desk and the wall.

Misty and Matt were laid off last week--their office closed. Bob and I had dinner with Matt and Karen and the other Matt the end of the previous week, when the writing was on the wall, but the final word hadn't been given yet, and so it wasn't my place to say anything.

Matt and Karen are moving back to the Boston area; in fact, they're probably already gone. They didn't want to pay another month's rent, so they packed all week and planned to take off this morning.

We had dinner with Misty Wednesday night--our annual being laid off party, we joked. Although it isn't really a joke anymore.

We had a lovely dinner (I had salmon and mashed potatoes, and Misty and I shared an apple dessert), and exchanged Christmas gifts. We'd tried several times to get together, with it just never worked out. Misty gave me a beautiful book called "Transforming Vision," which contains articles and stories that authors have written in response to works of art. From an artist (Misty) to a writer (me).

She doesn't know yet what she's going to do, but she got a stop-gap job hostessing at a restaurant a few blocks from her house. The job market here--or, really, probably everywhere--for the jobs that we do is very scary. Matt left because it looked like there were lots more new media jobs on the East Coast than there are here. (Is it still new media?)

My current project ends in two weeks; theoretically what happens then is that I move to the "bench," where contractors wait to be placed, and if I'm lucky they find a place for me. If not, I suppose after a few weeks (no one knows yet how long) I get cut loose to fly on my own . . .

It's a very tenuous position to be in, particularly since it's not one I chose, but it looks like my best shot at the moment.