Gosh! It has been nearly a month since I posted!

All is well--or better, at least. Ike is off at drum and bugle corps for the summer and the house is quiet for a change.

No trumpet. No melophone. No guitar. Complete silence. I really must complain.

The house is clean. The carpets are vacuumed. The bathroom isn't sweating from one of his long hot showers. His bed is temporarily disassembled and nobody cares. I dragged all his amps out of the living room and lined them up in his bedroom. *sigh*

We've also adopted another wee kitten. She hasn't got a name yet. Spunky . . . Loopy . . . Tiger . . . Tornado . . . I say that God sends me the difficult cases. She came to me half dead. Two days later people couldn't believe she'd been sick. She can fall asleep in mid-play. I thought about drawing a picture of my hand covered with bandages from all the play punctures she is giving me, but I'm not very handy with a mouse.

Mr. Dickens is depressed. Here he thought life was good, he ruled the roost for once. He is terrified of a six week old kitten! But he'll bark at full grown cats at a distance.

I've been thinking of going back to the daily entries where I dally with the fictionalization of my mysterious illnesses. Health has a tendency to become such a preoccupation, but I do have a great idea, I think.