Today, a huge box was dropped off at the house. Evidently J ordered (finally!) a cat tree for our tribe. And it's one of those huge suckers. Alas, not a lot of padding on the perches and cubbies, but it's easy enough for me to craft something up. Miss Sophie Underfoot loves it, it's pretty obvious that she's a 'tree' cat -- she's more or less claimed the top perch for herself, and goes gonzo for the mousies that dangle from it.
J did nothing on my birthday. Not a card, or cake, or anything. I know I'm being childish about this, but it hurts.
Making good headway on The Whiskey Rebels by David Liss. Very smart author, real command of eighteenth century life.
Time to get it in gear and go to bed. Although I am not at all sleepy. Tomorrow's dinner will be braised lamb shanks. With mashed potatoes. That should work nicely.
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