Raw bread and olive stones

Mac is currently a whiter cat than customary, on account of his sitting between my feet as I make bread. He likes to gobble any stray flecks of dough that fall. As a result, of course, he gets showered with flour on a regular basis, for I am a messy cook.

I'm rather more worried about the olive stones. He's not at all interested in olives, but the stones were attracting his undivided attention last night, to the point where I actually cast him off the desk because he was annoying me so much.

Um. I neglected to clear the dish of stones off my desk last night, for I am a sloppy housekeeper. This morning? Not so many stones. I am still hopeful that he's just been playing Go with them, probably on the carpet where my bare feet can find them later. I mean, he wouldn't actually eat them, would he? Not olive stones...?

Darling of the Day, revisited

So I wrote:

A man is compounded in equal parts of ego, shame and fear.

Only then I thought that might read derogatory, which was not my intent; so I wrote:

A man is compounded in equal parts of ego, shame and fear. Therein lies his charm.

That'll do me.