Another week has passed, and I’m tempted to start throwing out trite cliches. It’s not like the damn things aren’t everywhere already, after all. At least, that’s the impression I get from the tiny selection of news headlines that slip through my exceedingly determined hermiting.
I know that boycotting news because it’s all so much biased bullshit with an overlay of horrible isn’t necessarily a good thing. I also know that I don’t have enough stress tolerance to deal with an influx of biased bullshit with an overlay of horrible. Not when simple, thoughtless comments that show off a whole lot of bias without meaning to are making me grit my teeth.
Not to mention, the gas heater is utterly and conclusively crapped out. The dead thermocouple, we could have lived with. The dead burner with the hole large enough to put a finger through is a rather major inconvenience. The fact that the heater is a 15 year old model and the parts would need to be special-ordered because they’re obsolete means we’re looking at replacing the old beastie in the pious hope of getting something more than electric room heaters this winter.
Alas, it doesn’t look like we’re going to win that one. I’ve spent the last few weeks with two heaters on all day, plus anything up to all morning under an electric blanket with the heat all the way up. Her ladyship loves that one. She parks on my lap and thoroughly enjoys her warm until I have to move to start work.
In the meantime, one or both the boys have worked out how to open the desk drawers. This makes hiding the mice in the drawer somewhat challenging. It also means the ribbons I’ve got in there (don’t ask. Things tend to migrate to the most convenient location available) keep getting hauled out, untied from their neat bundles, and played with.
Which is not nearly as challenging as trying to find trackball balls or batteries that the darlings have played with. Both of the boys like things that roll and make noises. Westley prefers the noisemakers, where Midnight will happily bat anything that rolls all around the floor until he can’t make it roll any more. It doesn’t matter to him how big it is, or how noisy. He’s just as enthusiastic with grapes that fall on the floor as he is with the kitty toys which inevitably migrate under the hutch where they’re out of reach of little fluffy paws.
Speaking of which, it’s time to drag a broomstick under there and haul out all the kitty rolling toys again. It might even delay the next assault on the mice a little.
The picture is Buttercup being “helpful”, from before I got the laptop stand. Lately she’s taken to moving before I can get a photo of her, so I’m picking up some of my older ones for the weekly cat picture.