One of my readers sent me a link to a very cute story about a wedding:
The Tiny Cat is still hanging in. Valium works wonders on her appetite.
We have increased Glendower’s dose of Prozac, and also completed the shift of his diet from kibble to wet food. It turns out that, like Basement Cat, he is a kibble addict. This is a good thing (for cat training, anyway). I hope the boys will bond around their shared addiction.
I have way too many things to do before I leave, in a week’s time, for five weeks away. Thrashing is an ever-present danger. I am trying to focus on doing things that will stay done (at least for awhile), like re-potting houseplants, pruning bushes, and typing things I wrote by hand while laptop-less. Sadly, this means I’m shirking writing. But at least I can cross a few things off the Big Huge List that I’ve been carrying around for months.
How can there be so much laundry? Sir John has done laundry. I have done laundry. And yet there is still laundry. Lots of laundry. Are the Laundry Elves smuggling in piles of stuff from other people’s hampers? Are you missing any clothes or towels that seem to be neither in your closets nor your laundry heaps?
Sleep has turned problematic. I blame too much recent travel. At the moment, I’m about half-way from CA to HI, I think. It’s partly Sir John’s fault: he presented me with three of the late Poldark novels, and last night when I should have been winding down, the male Poldarks were all converging on the battle of Waterloo. How could I possibly go to bed without finding out what would happen?
I am always amazed at how a good writer (of either history or historical fiction) can create not just interest but suspense about an event whose outcome is well-known.
I really need to do FeMOMHist’s archive meme, even though I work more in libraries than in archives as such.