παπαῖ, ἀπαππαπαῖ, παπαππαπαππαπαππαπαῖ
It's much better than it was in New York, but I still have a hole in my right heel that hurts even when I'm not wearing shoes and bleeds rather disgustingly through any bandage I put on it. I feel like Philoktetes on Lemnos, only no one is going to come and heal me because I'm so important to the war effort. Odysseus is an asshole in that story anyway. [edit] Autolycus has leapt up onto the desk beside my laptop and is looking at me very seriously, with his lime-green eyes. Now he's licking my hand. Maybe he is playing the part of the son of Asklepios. Healing cat.

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His purr certainly makes me feel better, whatever it does or does not do for my foot. Also the softness of his fur. And the way Hestia has taken to sleeping at my feet at night: I stretch out under the covers and there is a small cat there. Autolycus prefers the pillow beside my head. I feel there is something about guardian angels in this arrangement, but I am pretty sure the cats are as pagan as they come.
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That is an incredibly appropriate icon. Cat-Miriam with her timbrel beside the sea.
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