That poor cat!

Memories of my parents’ house at the time of my mother’s death still haunt me. I will never forget the third-floor bedroom that became a no-go area because a tumbled stack of boxes was wedged between the door and the foot of the bed. One of my brothers (probably Andrew) had to put up an extension ladder and climb in the window to clear the blockage.

As for Susan the mask-hater, she’s apparently working on years of resentments covering a wide range of issues, and I’m just one more problem for her. I came swanning in during last winter’s lockdown with lots of range and the confidence to sing solos without fuss. I’m also not very tolerant of people who waste rehearsal time with complaints about things beyond our span of control.

The cats (mine, that is) had a huge fight last evening, and I have no idea why. They have been together their whole lives and they normally snooze all wrapped around each other so it’s hard to tell where one cat ends and the other begins. The home atmosphere is still a bit frosty this morning.