Gone sledding

Did I mention that we have a sled at home?

On our very first furniture hunting trip to Spoor 38, Marlon saw this battered old sled outside in the cold and mist. His Superman complex immediately kicked in and he just had to rescue it. Or maybe it was a third world/tropical aspirational thing, I don't know. Anyway, we threw an Ikea cheapskin sheepskin over it, and it magically went from odd purchase to cute seating for the living room. 

The ultimate sign that the sled was truly meant for our home was the Rogue stamp of approval.

It's perfectly Rogue-sized, furry, soft, and right next to the radiator, which makes it perfect for catnaps.

On a particularly cold evening, Marlon draped a hand towel over her during one of her catnaps. She just looked like she needed to be tucked in.

Of course that meant waking her up accidentally, which she was none too happy about. But in general I think she's very happy about the sled, which means crazy cat lady and crazy cat man-in-training are happy about it too.

So what if we're too close to the ocean for actual snow and live in the most slope-less, hill-less country in Europe. Who says you can't enjoy a sled?