The rest thing

The coon cat contingent is especially pleased with the day, it having eventually encompassed long periods of myself on the couch, artfully draped with both the floofy snowflake blanket and the venerable african.  They disposed themselves elegantly and commenced in to snoring while I did the rest thing, which meant nodding off from time to time and also reading.

Reading is, it says here, restful.  I would just mention here that it’s probably more restful if you can avoid laughing yourself into a coughing fit, and that I, too, want a Henderson.

The morning snailmail brought a surprise check for royalties from Fictionwise, making three on the year.  This particular check is especially satisfying because, what with one illness and another, Steve and I had decided that the Thanksgiving Buffet at one of the local establishments is what we shall do in terms of an Autumn Feast, and the funds just in will handily cover that and the tip.   Win.

Before that happy outing, however — tomorrow, in fact — I need to get to the day-job to do catch-up from today, and set-up for the long weekend.  Possibly, this will not take all day, but, with one of the searches on its last day, that’s not really the best square on which to place one’s last coin.

I believe I will take the elevator from The Street to the attic.  That’s rest, surely?

For now, I’m going to mooch back to the couch with Jan Burke’s The Messenger, and read to the coon cats some more.

For those celebrating this week — what are your Thanksgiving plans?

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