Good gracious, it’s SATURDAY! The sun is out, the big fat dove is in the tree making a racket. Chaucer is in Shawshank’s lap, and Pippin is perched on her little table by the back door. I’ve been up since before 6am. The entire town lost the internet yesterday: wifi went down and cell coverage…
I swear to god, if you choose to go on a summer hike in Death Valley, you fucking deserve everything that comes to you.
This morning is that magical weather conditions where it’s not cool enough for the cats to snuggle up to us, but not warm enough to keep them docile. Instead, they’ve been awake since before 6am, running around the house like little demons. Shawshank yelled at Pippin for trying to scale a pile of clothing and…