I Know What You did to the Cat Box

This is the view of a guest at midnight. Stepping over you, on top, walking around, licking your face. I suggested to Dahlia that she looked quite like a raccoon in the moonlight, but she scoffed at that. That was as she stepped over onto the night table and began going through my notes for class. She had a few suggestions and I may take them.







Speaking of the cat box, here it is. Intimidating, isn't it? It is a two-story affair and looks something like R2D2. It plugs in. How scary is that? I wonder if I could dry my clothes in it. Or monitor air traffic control. I can't remember the first thing my daughter told me about how to maintain this thing. It has a hydraulic lift inside and makes a tremendous noise throughout the house, especially at night when I can quite picture Freddy Kreuger coming up the stairs. I am going to have to deal with this problem today.

I used to joke with my old obstetrician that true courage is displayed by any woman who makes an appointment with a gynecologist and actually shows up. But I may have to revise that statement to include something about robotic cat boxes.




Here they are on their way out, ready to pack this bag and ditch this joint. No, not really. They were a little huffy about the dry food in their bowls this morning, but that was soon resolved. Their servant quickly capitulated.

Right now they are opening my mail and sorting through it.

Meanwhile, I am about to finish grading the last of 60 essays just in time to take in 40 new ones this afternoon.

I'm working on my old lady story and enjoying it. She doesn't have any pets.

A bientot
love,
Becky