Several postcards from Maine will be arriving here shortly. Since we got home last night, we've been busy unpacking, grocery shopping, doing laundry, and trying to figure out where to put all the books and life-size cat pillows we picked up around the island (more on that later).
I realize it's time for a major, top-to-bottom housecleaning, and I'm trying to muster some enthusiasm. (If only I could swap this chore with someone, say, undergoing a root canal. I'd much rather go through that than dust and scrub, provided the dental surgeon was as charming as my last one.)
Possum missed us exceedingly. As we came in the door, he came trotting into the room, squeaking. He has been outspoken and craving attention ever since, demanding and receiving food, petting, grooming, toy-chasing, and lap time. He woke me up twice last night, purring and walking around on me, head-butting my hand until I surrender and pet him. He curled up beside me and fell asleep on my wrist this morning as I was reading in bed, so I spent an extra hour with my magazine as he napped adorably.
Eight days apart is the limit, Possum says, and I agree — at least until he has a more stimulating companion (or two) for his solitude than Wendy. Possy reported that she spent almost every moment of our time away under the bed, lounging on my old wooden file box. Its woven top is concave from the shape of her body. It took her an hour to emerge after we arrived yesterday, and we praised her to the skies for showing up at all. She's sleeping in the open now, which we consider a huge favor on her part, since we love to look at her. She's been companionable in her skittish way, demanded some belly rubs on her schedule, and gave us a couple of concerts early this morning. As always, her theme seems to be a celebration of the portability of her plush toy snake. Of course, we're thrilled by every molecule of attention she deigns to give us.
I need to go do more stuff, but I'll try to post more later.