No sossidges for Mac

No Orchids for Miss Blandish. Despite her blandishments.

I really ought to read that sometime: the phrase sits so entirely in my head, and in my understanding of the language.

First, though, I really ought to remember not to leave eggs out on the table.

*cleans up broken egg, scowls at evil perpetrator, denies him sossidge*

His life is doomed, I tell you. Doomed.

Poor Barry. No sooner did I finally - at last! After months! - rediscover the laser pen toy and give him an Evil Red Dot to pursue, than the batteries died. Right then, right there.

And no sooner - after snuffling all across the floor in search of vanished dot, and looking up at me with you would not believe what pain and disappointment in his eyes - had he invented a new game with a wine-cork, than bloody Mac came and took it away from him and played his game all up and down the house.

Poor Baz. It's a cat's life, he tells you.

And now his tea is late.

...And that's that.

Whew. Just sent off proof amends for House of Bells, at the dog-end of the very day they're due. And that - barring blessedly improving sales, which we do not foresee - most likely marks the end of yet one more shoot on my multi-sprouting career. It's lucky I like variety.

Tomorrow, back to Pandaemonium and packing. Actually I should probably do more packing now, but - yeah. Finished proofs, also made scary phonecall*. I think that's enough for the day. The only question is whether I'm good, and leave that cork in the bottle there. Or the other thing.


*It would make life a lot easier if people for whom phone calls are easy and obvious would understand that for some of us phone calls are difficult and the very last thing we want to do. But of course they never will understand that, because, y'know. Easy and obvious. What could be hard? We just need to pull ourselves together. Etc.