It was, if not the quietest possible Thanksgiving, far quieter than it could have been.
We all did as little as possible.
Including Her Batshit Majesty, Princess Pointy Bits.
She’s laid claim to the entire condo complex on the landing outside the bedroom. From time to time–intervals measured in weeks or even months–her preferred perch shifts from one structure to another. Lately, it’s been this round condo: well placed to observe everything going on in the front hall, the bedroom, and the upstairs hall.
It wouldn’t do for the junior ruler of the universe to be uniformed about the actions of her subjects, after all.
She reminds me of my tuxie Patty, who was universally adored as dainty and sweet and was the most lethal stone killer ever to mouse-control a cellar.