Thursday. Grey and cold. Apparently the snow risked a speeding ticket to get to us by noon, instead of four, as previously predicted.
Breakfast was rice cakes, cream cheese, grapes, tea. Second cup of tea to hand. Lunch will likely come down to tuna melt, because — snow. Also, lazy.
Tali is not AT ALL convinced that I should sing “Me and Julio” along with the radio. Let’s hope they don’t play “Werewolves of London” anytime soon.
Last night I broke a cat food dish — of course one of four that “matched.” The cats don’t care and, sometime when it’s not set to snow a blizzard, I’ll be dropping by the Dollar Store, or Goodwill to pick up replacements, but I hate to break things.
We’ve had a busy few days in Maine, and not in a good way. On Monday, police answered a call of domestic violence, which resulted in a many hours armed standoff. The proximate cause of this situation, Steven Righini, had posted messages ranting against abortion, Democrats, and other Liberal Evils. His hostages were his SO and their baby. Mr. Righini was eventually shot and killed by officers, but not before he had shot and wounded Officer Johnathan Russell and killed his K9 partner, Preacher.
On Tuesday, a guy walked into our local Wal*Mart and stabbed himself in the neck. And, yesterday, another person, not yet apprehended, went into the food court at the South Portland Mall and killed someone.
It would be nice if Karma and the Rule of Three could expedite the paperwork, is all I’m saying.
Ashley’s due to arrive in about an hour to clean. I will be retiring to Steve’s office, as I do, which means it will be open for cat business for the first time since Monday.
I have a big stack of Who Knows What to sort through. This afternoon, I intend to write.
And that’s the news at the start of the day.
How’s your day starting out?
This morning’s cat census. I note that Rook is slightly confused. When I walked into the bedroom, he and Tali were on the bed. Rook was showing his belly and hissing at the same time.
Sorry to hear about Maine’s news.
I had a former cat who deplored when I sang anything. Period. She would come and paw at me or, whatever it took to get my attention and be sure I knew this was not acceptable (I have a good singing voice, I’ll have you know, and a decent ear, so the “quality” of what she was hearing should not have been an issue).
Meanwhile, it has been made abundantly clear that I am forced to retire. I’m eligible for the federal government “offer” for delayed resignation and I am eligible for retirement (by age) but I actually love my job and had no plans to retire any time soon, so it’s rather like having the rug ripped out from under me.
Molly has to live with our singing, like it or not, because spouse and I are both given to frequent random bursts of song – along with all my musical instruments. She’s welcome to go to the basement and hide.