I was gonna send out some photos and blog more tonight, but I guess I wasn't as de-jetlagged as a I thought I was. I crashed at about 7:30.
Sophie is home and rather grumpy that we ended her nice vacation. She was having fun, kickin' it with the cats and playing outside on warmer days; I think the cats accepted her as some kind of weird, long-eared breed. When we picked her up, all the cats ran to check us out but Sophie hunched at the far end of her run with a "hell no, I won't go" scowl on her face.
I'm still unpacking, cleaning, doing laundry and all that fun stuff. I already had a long list of stuff to do when we returned, and around 7:00 this morning Richard woke me up and said, "You gotta get up and help me. This bed is falling apart." Our bed is a cheap but very sturdy pine frame that we bought at a futon place and assembled ourselves. I hadn't even noticed it was wobbly, but if Richard noticed it could be falling apart, that meant flipping the thing on its side (not easy in our teensy bedroom), tightening all the screws, probably rearranging all the camping gear stored underneath, then hoping for the best. But I wasn't gonna do all that at 7 AM. The bed would just have to collapse with me on it. I told him we'd do it later and went back to sleep. As soon as I got up around 8:30, I added "adjust bed, reorganize gear" to my stuff list.
Then, en route to the cat place, a possibility occurred to me. A possibility so likely that I couldn't believe it hadn't struck me at once.
"Richard, do you remember telling me about the bed collapsing this morning?"
"What the...? No."
One thing to cross off my list.
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