votania. Things are wiped off and put away and set on wash. There's a loaf of bread baking. I need to vacuum tomorrow morning. I need to pack a lunch for myself tomorrow morning. I need to pack my Bag of Work Essentials -- binder, paper, pens, water bottle, sweatshirt. I need to set out the goldfish, the cheese crackers, the granola bars. I need to pray that the LF does not slack at school like yesterday. I need to scoop the catboxes; I need to trim
shammash's claws. I need to do that thing with the bathroom where I make sure that the litter that the kitling tracks out gets up off the floor. I'm actually not a tidy person. I just act like I'm supposed to look like one sometime. And I need to make sure the refrigerator won't cascade down on anyone's head.
When (I think it was) Storm Fayoumis came out of the henhouse in the mornings, she would pause halfway down the ramp, look around, scream, then keep on walking. It wasn't a crow. We know what a crowing hen sounds like. This was something like Great-Uncle John's ritual morning curse. I think Storm and Uncle John would have gotten along fabulously.
