I had intended to spend the majority of my afternoon post-'Thon working, since my brain was going to be no good for critical thinking until it got some sleep.
Bertie Owen got a hairball instead, so I spent the afternoon unsuccessfully attempting to sleep on the couch (multiple phone calls, unceasing car alarm, argument in street pertaining to car alarm) and then, after making fettuccine and hot dogs for dinner with![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch, most of the evening reading both Charles Dickens' and David Edgar's The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby (1839/1980) on the same couch. Different cats curled up with me by turns.
Bertie Owen no longer has a hairball. It was clotting up his fan and making a noise like a mosquito caught in a party blower and had to be surgically removed with tweezers; compressed air wouldn't budge it. Maybe it was more like a bezoar. I'm so fond of this machine, but I don't understand a thing about him.
Bertie Owen got a hairball instead, so I spent the afternoon unsuccessfully attempting to sleep on the couch (multiple phone calls, unceasing car alarm, argument in street pertaining to car alarm) and then, after making fettuccine and hot dogs for dinner with
spatch, most of the evening reading both Charles Dickens' and David Edgar's The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby (1839/1980) on the same couch. Different cats curled up with me by turns.Bertie Owen no longer has a hairball. It was clotting up his fan and making a noise like a mosquito caught in a party blower and had to be surgically removed with tweezers; compressed air wouldn't budge it. Maybe it was more like a bezoar. I'm so fond of this machine, but I don't understand a thing about him.
