typical

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(photo courtesy of flickr user Narith5)

We’re enjoying a little coffee and debating the future of the institution of the Sunday Newspaper.

The Squig is glued to my lap. He was discovered outside this morning, meowing piteously at the back door of the barn. He’s an indoor cat. And there was a frost advisory last night. So he is traumatized… or sated. It’s hard to tell. But I foresee a day much like the Girl’s toddler days. “Carry me. Hold me. Up.”

I need a cat sling in the worst way. If only I had yards of fabrics lying around the house that I could experiment with.

Oh wait. I do.

Anyway, my mind moves to more pressing issues.

“Breakfast?” I ask hopefully.

Himself ponders a moment and then says: “Yeah. What do you want?”

“Pancakes?”

“Yeah.” He nods thoughtfully.

“….with wild blueberries?”

Himself perks right up.

“YEAH! Where do you want me to sit?”

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