And that is to post here more regularly. Granted, most of my writing these days is as Nicola M. Cameron but I can still talk about other things like cover design, quilting, my insane cats, et al. And who knows—maybe I’ll find a shred of time somewhere and finally write some more science fiction under my own name. I have novel ideas ready to go, but at this moment the romance is more profitable and I’m trying to get us to the point where the Brit can retire and I can cover the bills with my writing.

Anyway, 2023—J.J. is still alive, which astounds me since he turned 21 in December. He has kitty dementia, is slightly deaf and blind, and tends to leave poop and pee in inappropriate places (on the floor in the bathroom, in his bed, etc.). But he still gets around, eats and drinks consistently, and loves to be cuddled. As long as he’s not showing signs of distress or pain, then we’ll just sigh and clean up after him. My sister commented, “He’s eternal—it’ll be him, Keith Richards, and Willie Nelson wandering the land after mankind falls to its doom.”

She may have a point there.

Other items of interest: the rest of the J Crew are all well, I spent much of December quilting my ass off (I now have two completed baby quilts, a twin quilt top for my niece, and a queen quilt that I’m piecing at the moment), the treadmill motor finally died after nineteen years so I’m walking laps around the downstairs, the new knee (got a Total Knee Replacement on ShitKnee in April) continues to heal and it is SO lovely to be able to walk without limping, the Brit is still in his contract job and is happily rebuilding antique computers as a hobby, and everything seems to be pretty good as of the start of 2023. I would like more money, of course, but that’s par for the course and I’ll be working on that this year, and I’m really hoping we can do some traveling in 2023. If nothing else, I’d love to be able to send the Brit home for a week or two so that he can see his family.

Which means I have to write more and sell more books. I can do that.

So the Brit is off at his bimonthly game night. In his absence, I thought I’d wrap up the tax paper wrangling, then do a little quilting in celebration of National Quilting Day.

And then my eyes fell on my Watmire scarf, which had been pulled out of its bag yet again by some enterprising cats. I call it my Watmire scarf because it’s patterned after Watson’s scarf from Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows, but I knitted the bulk of it while bingeing on Longmire. Anyhoo, I was approximately four rows from finishing the damn thing, so I thought, “Ya know, I’m gonna sit down, knock out those rows, and then it’s done except for the weaving in of the ends and the fringe.”

So I sit down, start knitting, and realize that the yarn is sticking oddly to the bamboo knitting needles. And then I sniff and realize why.

Someone, and since she’s the only one who does this I’m pretty damn sure that her name rhymes with Bessica, had decided to pee all over my scarf. Why? Who knows. Maybe she was feeling ignored, maybe Jas had sat on it and she felt like re-establishing her territory, maybe she just felt like peeing on it. Not only that, she also managed to tag the balls of yarn inside the bag. I was admit that a large quantity of profanity was called into use at this moment, and Jessica (shown at right) promptly hightailed it out of the living room because she knew damn well what she’d done.

Swearing steadily, I retired to the bathroom with my reeking scarf, whereupon I finished the damn thing and cast off. It is now soaking in a lingerie bag, along with the peed-upon balls of yarn, in Nature’s Miracle, and I will carefully wash it later and let it hang dry. I know the scarf is salvageable, but if I have to buy three brand new skeins of yarn just to do the damn fringe on this thing, I am turning that cat into slippers. Mark my words.