Ernie made a big pot of ratatouille yesterday. I directed from the living room where I was working. I love that kind of cooking.

I didn’t even take pictures. Me! Ratatouille! I know….who am I? I did however take a picture of a big bowl of basil and parsley leaves that I picked for the ratatouille.

I’m a bit worried about our geriatric cats. Hattie spends most of her time sleeping on Owen’s bed, curls up with me for a bit of attention in the evening and then retreats to her corner of the couch. We are still struggling with her eating and her Miralax. Sigh. Aging is so undignified. It’s not for the weak, as I often say.

I tend to look back at my Facebook memories most days and I noticed how many pictures I had posted of Bob all floofed up and sleeping upside down. It made me realize he never does that anymore. I worry. See? He’s curled up on his Ernie but he’s not all floofed up and upside down.

Earlier I complained to Ernie about how stressed I am at the moment. He asked why.

“WHY?,” I said, “HELL, I don’t know, maybe because of you, and me, Leo going to London, Owen figuring out his life, our mattress, our checking account, Bob not floofing, Hattie not pooping, my sister and her recovery, our trip to Maine, our house, our yard, worry about friends, maybe our whole fucking country. That’s why.”

He just calmly told me he was here for me. Which he is. Always.


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