Saturday, November 17, 2012



I was never a cigarette smoker, but I had whooping cough when I was a kid—and pneumonia twice; so I guess it is not surprising I tend to get a hacking cough in the winter. It is the kind that leaves one feeling bruised. And it has returned. Shame on the damn thing. I have work to do.

For all that, it is clear that I need to rest up for a while and consolidate. Working 70 hours a week at my age may be overdoing it a bit—though I enjoy it so much. Either way, illness means I am decidedly not in top physical condition at present, much has been happening, and I need to rest up, recover a bit—and then do a considerable amount of housekeeping. And, of course, I have my guests to look after. Cat Charlie—she of the lightening claws—has decided my chair suits best; and cat Chester is wandering around behaving like Hamlet. His articulation is all too good. It penetrates every nook and cranny. To eat or not to eat. That is a damn fool question.

You would think that feeding Charlie would shut him up, but not a bit of it. This is a cat with lungs, and an urge to demonstrate that fact. Why not? He has nothing else to do.

Who would have thought two cats would be so theatrical—and seemingly classically trained at that? That said, they make this little apartment look remarkably cozy. Frankly, I would like to be tougher with the damn things, but I seem to be something of a softie.

Do not tell.


Orso Clip Art

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