Fecathon

I’m making myself busy around the house, today. Le Restaurant for One is open and I am also serving as butler and laundress. On top of everything, The Justice Exploit was infected with a real virus without my previous knowledge and current ability to remove.

So, now the Wife and one of the cats are down with a cold. George boasts he’s a Russian Blue, but thinks with a heavy patois found in Marseilles or Toulon. Anyway, I can’t understand it and The Justice Universal Translator has proved to be a challenge.

Of course, the Wife is very pleased my foolishness resulted in a substantial anonymous cash donation dropped into her very hand, yesterday. That’s the language she thinks in.

As you might imagine, my agent hasn’t been exactly flooded with offers for my reality show. As he put it:

Vast improvement in adaptive optics and digital manipulation are required before your visage can be made photogenic.

And so, it seems for now, I am once again relegated to the keyboard and not the bright lights and big cities.