I have been awake since three-thirty this morning, and just for the record I am not better for it.

“What are we going to do about you?” My Darling B asked the N-cat, when she finally surrendered to not-sleeping and wandered into the kitchen, where I was preparing the morning pot o’ joe.

“Can we boil him and eat him, maybe?” I asked.

“That doesn’t sound very … appealing,” she responded.

And then, later on, she said something about how we couldn’t kill him because we’d burn in hell for doing something like that. “Will I be able to get any sleep there?” I asked.

“No, probably not. Hell, for you, is probably listening to a cat paw at the door and whine all night.” And with those words, it’s very likely that she defined what I’ll be doing for eternity after I shuffle off this mortal coil.

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