Meanwhile,Two Glimpses of Domestic Tranquillity . . .

It’s a busy, scary world today: horrible earthquakes; war in Ukraine, warming here, freezing there, the resurgence of orange hair, etc. . . .

But here in my hideaway, busy following much of this, there are glimpses of something else.

One is the last holdout of the lilies I got the Fair Wendy for our anniversary. They were slow opening, and then spread out to put on a Georgia O”Keeffe drag show, of which this one may be the best. It’s a rescue bloom that broke off and we saved it in its own little bottle in the kitchen.

It’s stretching out the finale with much grace and flair, sharing the narrow windowsill with some of our most crucial survival supplies: the mini-kitchen clown on the right, our greaseproof copy of the Constitution ready at the (far) left, next to the ceremonial hardwood chopsticks, for which we haven’t yet found an appropriate ceremony, and Wendy’s ever-ready stick-on Xmas tree (only 321 more days).  Not far away . . .

. . .  is Princess Katharine,  aka Kitty. She’s such a prima donna we worked for hours to get the setup for this pose just right [kidding], with her pausing her yoga in mid-Hunting-the-Flea position, right next to the carpet end that’s slung over the arm of the couch to inhibit her claw-sharpening on it (seems to work, a bit), accented by a ragbag of the paisley persuasion.

I call Kitty an obverse calico, because her coat incudes several different shades, but mostly browns, with touches of orange and charcoal. Withal it is subtle & lovely, but has been extremely difficult to capture on my phone camera; it typically yields images just in shades of dun.

But at this moment, a melding of outdoor light through the window with a lamp left on, brought it closer to doing her justice than the hundreds of other tries. But enough . . .

. . . of such lollygagging about. The afternoon is young and there are still a few more catastrophes and calamities to sort out before the big test tonight, namely whether I can stay awake through the whole SOTU speechorama, to find out whether Ole Joe will stand up for my Social Security, or cave and let Creepy Kev & Marj the Marauder turn the rest of my golden years into a cup of tin . . . .