move them feet, to easy street

Things that make me happy on a winter Sunday morning include:

a clean living room
free coffee
frosted mini wheats, even though the milk's gone bad and I have to eat them dry
cold dog nose on my knee
a good book

So, something has died somewhere in our house. Again. I was listening to show tunes on Youtube this morning when Jac called out from the bathroom: "Put that on pause and come smell this," which is pretty much never a good sign. So I go to the hallway and stand over the heating grate like she instructs me to, and sure enough there is the unmistakable scent of small mammal death in my nostrils.

"Awesome," I say, and we shake our fists and rue my uncle, the man we are convinced summoned the restless spirit of my dead grandmother to torment the new tenants in her house. It's kind of a long story, but it involves mysterious speed bumps appearing in wood floors and plagues on par with the ones Moses warned about. At this point, we're both happy that at least the animal is deceased and not helping himself to the dry goods in our pantry.

Lucy seems oblivious to any carnal instinct this smell should ignite in her and is far more interested in catching any stray crumbs of cereal that I might bestow upon the floor. I love that stupid dog.

That's really all I've got for now. Just felt like writing a bit of something. I'm off to enjoy the rest of my Sabbath, before the big bad productivity machine switches back on again for the week.

Peace out.

(In case you were wondering just exactly what show tunes I was listening to on Youtube, I'll leave you with the comment that Burnadette Peters, Tim Curry, and Carol Burnett are some of the best casting choices ever for Annie...)