‘Ello, y’all. We’ve started our Sunday with Pippin screaming at Shawshank. She wants to be picked up and held. Chaucer is starting his morning by staring at us. Update: he threw up. That’s all he wanted. We had a good Saturday. Shawshank worked, and I assumed a human form. For the most part, I watched…
It’s Saturday, and I’m up. I was up a couple of times this morning, accidentally waking up Shawshank at 4:37am. When I did finally get out of bed, it wasn’t long before Chaucer was demanding space in my lap. Shawshank worked yesterday, so I had the morning to myself. I spent most of that time…
It’s fucking Friday. Chaucer is pressed against me, looking very annoyed every time I reach for my coffee and slightly disturb him. Pippin is tucked into a tiny ball, like a cat-sized roly-poly bug. They exist in the ocean. Don’t Google it. As planned and expected, we did nothing yesterday. Shawshank grabbed the Switch controller…