anxious

Sunday night

I'm making what I hope are final revisions on the Holmes-Giles story, which returned to me with Useful Beta Feedback from my Useful and No Longer Neglected Beta Reader. Very very very soon now it will be done.

Mr Pedia is on the phone to his mother, talking politics. The peepers are peeping. Somebody outside is setting off fireworks. Fizzle, shriek, bang. One of our two Absurdly Small Dogs is extremely upset by the fireworks. She flung herself at the side of the couch until I picked her up. She's capable of jumping up, but not when she's trembling this badly. Poor dog! She's now tucked up against me, still trembling. Every so often the neighbor sets off another firecracker, and she shakes harder. It must be bad for her to turn to me for comfort. The dogs worship Mr Pedia. The other dog, known as the Stupid One, seems not to have noticed.

Lord knows where the Cat of Extreme Timidity is. Usually he hides in the chimney during these interludes of terror.
  • Current Music: Jon Hopkins : Song One : Escapism Vol.1
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Fireworks are hell on Small Dogs. Hope this one passed quickly!
Food soothed all her fears. As always, with the Smart One.

The cat slept through the whole thing in perfect indifference, on top of his cat tree. I can never predict what's going to send him into a tizzy.