Hello, peeps. It’s a dark and icy Monday out there. I woke up to an alert on my phone, warning me of freezing drizzle. Shawshank slid around on the patio in his slippers with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth while I blew smoke out through the slightly open door.
The cats have been batshit for the last three nights. Just as we get into bed, they start with the shit. They run across the bed. Chaucer yowls. Most of the time, they settle down fairly quickly; however, they’ve been kicking their shit up a notch the last two nights. Every morning, we’ve gotten up to find stuff knocked all over the place. My legwarmers have been pulled off their little rack, minis were knocked off the kitchen table. I found a picture frame on the floor one morning. Last night, they were especially bad. Chaucer dropped his latest single, an extended release of the song of his people, no less. I found a mini by the back door today.
We spent yesterday afternoon playing Terror of the Hemasaurus on the Switch, almost right up until we went to his parents’ house. We got pretty far, and enjoyed our day of rampaging about the city as giant lizards. Now that we have two controllers, I suggested we take it to Shady Acres next weekend so he and his dad can play some of the classic Nintendo stuff in the time before dinner. Then we wouldn’t all be staring at our phones. Maybe I’ll pick up some cheap yarn and a couple of hooks the next time we’re in Slightly BiggerTown. I could make a hat while we sit. I want a witchy crochet hat, and there’s zero reason I can’t make one.
Besides, if I have something to amuse myself, I won’t spend all the money my mom sent us for Christmas on cheap Chinese stuff.
Today is sloth day. We’re chillaxing. In a couple of hours, Shawshank will make us a fabulous brunch, and I’ll have a yummy sandwich. We plan to play at least one game of Godtear, and I’ll cook something for dinner.
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