.....Woke once to find Huck the cat sleeping with his feet tucked up under and his head stretched out, Rannie sitting up next to him with the horrified expression of a Sunday-school teacher seated next to a drowsy, too-friendly drunk on a long plane flight; woke up later and looked down to find Rannie asleep, curled up very neatly with Huck right beside her, sprawled on his back, toes curled up, one foreleg thrown across her. --And shortly after I stirred, Rannie awoke, growled something outraged-sounding and flounced to the floor and out of the room.
To judge from the coughs, sneezing and occasional it-hurts-when-I-move groans floating down the hall, Tam is a day or day and a half behind me in this cold and harder-hit. My sinuses are draining and my lungs are starting to clear -- and it's still feelin' pretty lousy. No terrifying throat spasms yet today, for which I give thanks; the blame things would hit and I'd be thinking, "Great, I can't breathe." Yowza.
Don't Panic, it'll only make it worse.
Whatever that cold-potion is, it kind of works, at least so far. Need to check for sleepiness rating; if it's okay, I'll swig a dollop before departing this morning.
And this morning, Rannie, after fussing and fretting as I cooked, snubbing her dry food, cussing me until she was given a tiny dish of olive oil, had about half of it, realized it wasn't sausage grease and nipped me on the back of the calf en passant! Best part? I gave her a dab of sausage grease. She turned up her nose at it. (Rannie's War On My Ankles is a part of every morning. How dare I traipse back and forth in front of the stove! The nerve!)
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago