Okay, Then...Dammit

     I have now reached the "obnoxiously crabby" stage of my cold.  It's probably a good sign; it means I've got enough mental processing cycles left over to be annoyed about being sick.

     That does not, however, mean it is any fun.  And I have to keep it reined in, despite an unceasing string of petty frustrations this morning: when I act annoyed, the cats get crabby with one another:
     "Mom's upset and it's your fault!"
     "No it ain't, it's your fault, you fluffy monstrosity!"
     "Yeah, well you're yellow!"
     "That's it!"  And they're off, wrestling, trying to chew one another's ears off, rolling over and over down the hall.
     Earlier, one of them was biting the other as he was headed into the litterbox, an offense against proper behavior so dire that we moved the biter to the front of the house and shut the door -- until his adopted brother, business taken care of, began wailing at the closed door about being so lonely, where was his pal, what had we done?

     There's no managing cats; you just have to figure out where they're headed and try to get there first.