Poor Mac, it is not fair. With an eleventy.

I tricked him, and put him in a box. Before breffuss. Baz had breffuss, and Mac didn't. He was in a box!

And then I took him outside, but it was cold and he was in a box. And there was an evil bus, and then lots of being carried and shook about; and then I abandoned him to the wicked vets, where there are scores of girls who will coo at him and cuddle him, poor Mac!

And now I am home, and shall pass the time among my books. There is actually a fine tradition of Chaz fiddling with his books while cats are having operations. The first time was Sophie, and there were all sorts of reasons why she might not have been coming home again. I put all my children's books into alphabetical order. And then it was Misha, and the tradition was established, so I turned to the SF. And so on. And Mac's only in for a dental scour and extractions-if-needed, but even so. I shall put books into boxes. With an eleventy.

[EtA: but not till I have drunk coffee. I did all this without coffee! Eleventy-one!]

Heh

My brag-shelf runs to four boxes, with no duplication and actually quite a lot of stuff missing. And not counting any of the magazines, most of which I do not have. Anyone would think I'd been doing this awhile.

Actually, of course, longevity is the only thing I have to brag about. Thirty-five years and counting, since my first stories came out. Some of the kids who read me when I started will be grandparents by now, lawksamussy.

My cats are driving me crazy (scientifically!)

I knew I shoulda kept packing books; then I wouldn't have read how the boys' parasites are causing everything from car wrecks to schizophrenia. Not car wrecks in my case, obviously, so...

If you don't have cats? The comments will make you crazy anyway.

Tin-ton-tan

I am making, I have to say, some very odd choices. It's probably those feline parasites embedded in my brain. But of course I want to keep my book on the social and economic history of France in the nineteenth century, disguised as a commentary on the practice of bell-ringing. How not? I might never find it again.

Talking of which, I am starting to wonder why some books I have not yet found. There must be extra stashes in unpredictable places. Or the cats are driving me crazy.

Update

Mac's okay. Still sleepy (awww, cute little sleepy Mac...), but I can pick him up in an hour or so. Baz gets just one more little hour to rule this roost, all stretched out in front of the fire with no danger of being pounced upon...

I have filled more boxes and written more words, but not enough of either. It will never be enough. I am trapped between two event horizons, and they will shortly tear me apart. The cats will have half a body each to chow down on: much like a normal mealtime, then. Mmm, gushyfudz. I hope Mac has teeth enough left to chew on me.

Home safe, and sound as a bloody bell

Mac requests and requires me to point out that his magnificent teeth were perfect, under all the nasty tartar: none missing, and no decay. He enquires meaningfully what all the fuss was about, and intends to resume his former habit of biting Barry from behind and me from any angle at any time.

Meantime, the nice vet has said he can have tuna, and he wants it now. (The vet actually said "little and often", but Mac didn't hear the "little". As it happens, I never eat tuna, so of course I have some, so. Tuna it is. At tea-time: I spoil in one direction only.)

[EtA: he has entirely stopped being cute & sleepy. He was bright & alert when I got there, sitting on top of his box and watching everything, informing all the dogs that he could take them, one at a time or all together. Now he's being outrageously demanding, and bothering Baz in the interstices.]

A well-tuna'd fiddle

We have survived round one of the tuna (which is rather good tuna, and comes in conveniently little tins). Assuming that Mac doesn't throw up in the meantime, there will be a round two for all, in an hour or so. This never happens, so the boys will love me for it.

[Why yes, of course Barry is getting tuna too. What kind of a monster do you take me for?]

In other news, apparently LJ has given up on sending me notification when comments arrive. We-all thought you-all didn't care about Mac; he might have been quite hurt, if there hadn't been tuna. Happily all is now well, and your good wishes have been conveyed, and he is bouncing about in a reprehensible manner. The expression "Aren't you supposed to be convalescent?" may have been heard in the land.

SF in fog

Courtesy of sbisson, here's an utterly beautiful video of San Francisco in fog, by day and night.

It almost feels like home already.