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

[desperance]

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!]