It is complicated to make the bed when there's a massive Possum rolling around on it, demanding petting and attention and trying to get himself trapped under the fitted sheet. I petted, cajoled, and eventually prevailed.
This habit of Possum's always reminds me that he had to get himself humanely trapped twice before the rescue people figured out that he was adoptable. Obviously they didn't notice all the bistro takeout menus and classical CDs he'd squirreled away in the wilds of Shrewsbury, where he and his siblings were found. How lucky those kittens were that a small community of people cared about them, and how fortunate we are to have our splendid, magnificently upholstered, Possum as a result. (He is going to slim down some this year, but please don't tell him.)
Chicken stock from the remains of tonight's roast chicken is simmering on the stove. Tomorrow there will be chicken noodle soup, an ideal late lunch on a frosty day.
I know it's going to warm up again later this week, so I'm taking advantage of the only Weather we've had so far this season. I go out every day to walk a few miles, so I'm not really missing the snow we should have had by now. Like any sane person, I prefer to walk confidently on a dry sidewalk instead of mincing fearfully along an icy path. But all the same, I can't help thinking that the neighborhood would look so much prettier and, well, seasonal in a decent layer of snow. In the meantime I'll settle for strong winds and some bitter wind chills; I'll just make do.
Remember last January?