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per amica silentia lunae

or, across the ferny brae with the evil voodoo celt

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Cats, why did it have to be cats?
So last night, Sophie somehow managed to knock over the basement dehumidifier. It's a goner, but she's OK. She spent the rest of the night persona non grata, and her name was temporarily changed to whatever creative swearing I felt like directing at her.

Sometime in the wee hours, I heard a clattering from the baby-gate that keeps the cats out of my office. There was Zorie, pawing at the grating and seemingly desperate to get... though it? Over it? Then I finally saw the small, miserable-looking mouse that huddled at the top of the gate... she had apparently treed it there. Said mouse was ejected (I didn't want to deal with the row and the ruction of a mouse hunt at that hour, especially since Judy was awake).

::sigh:: Cats.

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It was more a resigned sort of name-calling than a cursing out.

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