So, I’ve been working. Reading. Etc. It’s getting a bit warmer but nothing hugely significant is going down that I’m willing to talk about on the internet, so . . . posts have been slim.


Keaton is a traitorous bastard. He (or his progeny, the ingrates) CAME INSIDE. Which, as you all know, is strictly verboten. So naturally, he had to die. Which required my standing on my bed with my boot (WHY are they always on the ceiling?) and reaching out across open space to smooosh him. And of course he did the ‘dying spider curl into a ball and drop to the ground thing’ to which I gave the requisite girlish scream and then proceeded to beat the hell out of him with my shoe.

He’ll not be getting up from that fall anytime soon, let me tell YOU!

Unacceptable behavior though. Unacceptable. How dare a grand-progeny of Freud treat me thusly? After magnanimously sharing my window-space.

I ask you.


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