Because I'm highly superstitious and mildly obsessive-compulsive I don't want to discuss the activities of last night's Operation Sunkist events.  We have a bit of hope though.  Now please knock on wood.

I never realized how much Pumpkin looks like Sunkist.  He is his brother, but it somehow escaped me until now.  I really don't want my orange boys split up again.  It seems like they keep disappearing from my life one-by-one.  I'm supposed to be positive, I know, but it's not an easy thing to keep up when the traps are consistently empty or contain an inhabitant that isn't him.

The weather is getting warmer and I didn't lose circulation when I stepped outdoors so THANK JESUS H. CHRIST!  But when J drove me to The Shed on the four-wheeler I couldn't feel my butt as I attempted to liberate myself from the contraption.  Who needs butt sensation anyway?  Well, I can think of one sector of the community that probably needs butt sensation.

Speaking of sensation, our night vision camera is on our kitchen table and, because I don't know how to turn it off, it probably contains nineteen photos of Peter's penis because he keeps walking over it.  Peter is a cat—not some strange man wandering around my house taking photos of his wienerschnitzel.

It's been 27 days.