In case you guys wonder why this week the posts have been very late, and I haven't updated Chapter House or my newsletter in two weeks.... I have an explanation. it's not an excuse, but it's an explanation.
One of three explanations is above. Let me give you more of the explanations:
That's Circe and Indy.
And yet more:
This is muse on the isle, and you KNOW she's too cute to be in trouble. Or at least, SHE knows.
All together now:
But, you'll ask, how can these beautiful, loving creatures be the reasons I haven't been posting on time? Am I just blaming them?
Well, they're not the only reason. BUT--
Here, let me tell you about my day yesterday, so you can... taste the chaos:
I got up at a normal human time, around 7:30 am. walking downstairs, where we have Six FOOT TALL GATES on he doorways the kittens and cats aren't supposed to go into, I notice Muse walking around on the other side of the gate.
To explain, on the other side of the gate we have: Plants we don't want attacked, my sewing room where I don't want the fabric peed on, and the living room which is a sea of boxes and construction stuff (a lot of it to go to the shed which figures in this story later.) The later is potentially dangerous to the raving idiots, hence the gates.
I run to check if I accidentally left the other gate open. Nope. it's closed.
Freak out. Dan and I start getting cats out of there, which is hard, because Indy hides very well. Finally get them out and are discussing how they might have got in, when they.... show us.
So the living room and the family room share a fireplace. It's huge, in the way of mid-century-modern construction, and just open.
Because we haven't got around to try to find extra large screens you screw on, we have just iron screens blocking it on either side.
They managed to wedge to move the screens aside. So, get the weight lifting weights to put in front of it, so it can't be slowly wedged way.
Which is when Indy shows us he can jump six feet from the floor to the top of the gate and get in anyway. There ensues a half hour of searching for him. Proving he's evil, he was lying flat on the rug in the bathroom, in the dark.
Get him out of there. Put a baby gate in the little space above the gate so he can't just jump in. (He's still trying.)
Sit down to write yesterday's blog. Get phone call. Our prescription insurance, sulky about my dressing them down till they covered our prescriptions, has made two inexplicable assumptions: 1) that my health is worse than Dan's. Specifically that my diabetes (which I tested positive for once, but mostly test pre-diabetic, and which is fully under control with ozempic) is much worse than Dan's (who is on three meds, eats like a teen girl and is still not under control sugar wise.) AND 2) They can solve it by phone, by putting me in consultation with an RN "because she can advise you on diet and exercise and stuff." (Duuuude. We were hard core low carb for years, are still technically low carb, and I'm NOT a non-active person. Unless the RN is some kind of magician fixing genetic code and problems of auto-immune (I always gain weight when having a massive auto-immune flare. Doctors tell me this makes sense. It might but it's unfair. I want to have chocolate cake, if I'm going to gain weight.)
I try to explain that I don't think telemedicine is going to solve my medical issues when doctors over the years can at best patch them, and get told making the appointment will take me 1 minute.
An hour later....
And then I finally did the blog.
Which is when Dan told me we needed to go move all the moving boxes from the shed to the curb, because someone was coming in less than an hour to pick them up. The explanation on this: We moved ourselves, but we did it over six months, with multiple trips. Which meant we got A LOT OF BOXES. How many boxes? Thousands. Add in the end stage where we were packing things because we couldn't decide whether to pack them or donate them or throw them away? THOUSANDS. (To illustrate, I recently opened a box that told me it contained glasses for the kitchen. It contained MASSES of wrapping paper and a serving plate. I did this. I can't blame anyone else. But that is not worth a box. Also, really?)
The problem was that the boxes were taking over our entire shed, so I couldn't walk in it. Literally. Which means some furniture that needs to be fixed/refinished, was just there, taking up space. With boxes all over.
Took me a while to convince Dan even if we move again (depends on where kids end up and if there are ever grandkids) we probably will have someone move us as we did the times before this last. We only did it ourselves this last time because it was lockdown, and we were trying to do it on a shoe string, because we were house-poor. And then he still, understandably, didn't want to throw some barely used boxes away.
Anyway, I spent an hour and a half carrying boxes around. And then we found out that the cats had found another route into what Dan is calling "The East Wing" or Forbidden Land. (It's a grand name, for an area that was obviously an addition to a relatively small house, and consists of living room, Dan's bill's office, the guest room/sewing room and a bathroom. Most of it in states of still packed. BUT It makes it sound like we live at Pemberley, so I'll allow it.)
AND THEN some family stuff happened. Including some administrative stuff that required a decision on my part. By which point it was 10 pm, and I sat down to write a chapter of No Man's Land, because if I don't it won't let me sleep.
Which means I wrote till midnight (and still didn't finish the chapter because inexplicably (ah) I was scattered and slow.
And then woke up late (9) this morning, with Dan saying "The cats were in the East Wing, and I had to grab Muse with one hand. I might have squeezed her too hard, because she tried to bite me, but she won't let me near to check her."
Well, we replaced the screens and put a baby gate inside the fireplace. Finding enclosures that fit this mammoth size... well.... And Muse is fine.
But by that point I didn't feel up to writing a blog post, and it took a while to do the Mad Genius Club one and then--
So, here we are. See, I told you I had explanations, even if not excuses.
They're adorable and fuzzy. And I wish they'd stop breaking into the East Wing.
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