Isobel deigned to share the lap with Watson this morning. Crisis over.

Except, of course, for cleaning two Oriental rugs (the other casualty is a small red Turkmen from Kabul), and paying for the whole adventure. Watson should return to the cat hospital in three weeks for another urine sample to find out whether the special diet is doing the job. Rinse and repeat (probably literally).

Meanwhile, in other news, I finally replaced the cross-cut shredder that died about a year after we moved to Stratford. I took another look at the bylaw on open fires and realized that burning the tightly packed contents of at least two more banker's boxes would definitely attract official attention, and not in a good way. So back I went to the Staples website.

The instructions that came with this machine tell me what I did to kill its predecessor, which was not accompanied by a users' manual. Maximum 16 pages at a time, and no more than 20 minutes of shredding before letting the machine cool for 30 minutes. Now I wonder how our first shredder lasted as long as it did.

The investment broker sent a clutch of documents for me to sign. Can it be ... ? Finally, after eight months of nagging, is it possible ... ? But the investment company's delay means that Edmund's estate can't be finally closed and settled until the 2021 income tax returns are completed and assessed.

That sucks.