The Cat is just fine. She hasn't written for awhile, since the incident of the hot water heater (see 8 Jan 2008 - The Cat as Noah). She's started to write a few times but time just steals itself away and hides itself under the bathroom rug. Now that that rug is dry, it has become a favorite place for storing spare time.
But seriously folks... she's told me at least a dozen times that she wants to write, and I keep putting her off, making excuses, promising to do it later. She glares; I procrastinate. She accuses; I point to the teetering tower of trivia for while I am responsible, and attempt to come up with a plausible excuses. She stomps off; I get back to work on said tower. Bottom line: It is my fault that The Cat has not been blogging recently.
Her revenge has been sweet. She's discovered that if she cheek-rubs the numeric keypad on the desktop system, it will turn on the mousekey function, disabling many other functions. Then when I wake up and try to use the system, and can't get it to work, she rests in the corner and gloats imperiously.
Ok ok ok! Mea culpa, awready.
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