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Last week, Ernest claimed the chair I consider mine. When I got out, he jumped in. When I wanted to sit down, I had to wrestle him out. ¬†That’s why the photo shows Ernest lying in the chair.

The laptop is in the chair because one night several months ago, when the laptop was sitting on the floor beside the chair, its usual resting place, Ernest chewed through the cable running from the laptop to the fan beneath. The cable was hardwired, so I had to buy a new fan. The next night Ernest chewed through the cable running to the new fan. Fortunately, that cable was replaceable.

Ernest had never shown interest in any of the cables decorating our home, and he’d been peacefully coexisting with the fan cable for two years. I don’t know why he snapped.

I’ve now treated all wires and cables with dishwashing soap.

Anyway, since Ernest’s oral fixation got the best of him, the laptop has spent its nights in the chair, covered by a pillow. William sometimes sleeps on the pillow. On the day I took the photo, Ernest took possession of the chair before the laptop was tucked in.

That’s why Ernest is lying on the laptop.

While we’re on the topic, here’s a picture of the stationary bicycle I bought in January. At Academy. Brand new.

(William, I fear, though he’s neither gnawer nor clawer, may not be entirely innocent in this matter.)

When I discovered the bike’s new look, I wasn’t pleased. I’ve managed to convince myself, however, that function is more important than form. And form can be altered.

I could knit the bike a sweater. And buy Ernest a straightjacket.*

*

*I can hear readers saying, “What is wrong with this woman? Why does she put up with this?” For three reasons: 1. I love the cats, even Ernest. 2. They’re not generally destructive–don’t tear up carpets, baseboards, cabinet doors, so far haven’t broken any china (although I once came upon William on the verge of pushing the salt shaker off the table, so china isn’t a slam dunk,) and spend most days sleeping and being cute. 3. I don’t want a divorce.

Adapters, palm pads, and bezels

The prodigal laptop has returned.

It’s been on a six-day retreat in Houston, getting its hinges fixed. Several weeks ago, one of them popped and bad things ensued. Bits and pieces in the back loosened and bent, and the monitor started to come apart at the seams. I was afraid it was going to spit little internal organs all over the carpet.

I wrote a post about the laptop, a long, chatty narrative ending in self-analysis. Then, when I was inserting a photograph, several paragraphs vanished. Clicking the Undo button thirty or forty times didn’t bring them back. By that time, I’d worked on the piece so long that it had become cloying, and rewriting would have sent me into a carb coma,¬† so I scrapped it. For anyone who cares about my mental processes, here’s the nutshell version: The laptop broke about the same time my plot was falling apart, so instead of fixing either of them, I let them gather dust. When CP convinced me the plot was doable, I arranged for the laptop’s repair.

There. A zillion words on a topic of no import reduced to two sentences. I don’t enjoy watching my words disappear, but if they did so more often, the world would be spared a lot of foolishness. Or if not the world, a small but treasured portion of it.

I’d thought the laptop would be away for at least ten days, so the six-day turnaround time surprised me. So did the little extras I found upon opening the box–a new adapter and cord, and a palm pad. The old cord was so frayed and patched that I was reluctant to let it accompany the computer. And either the laptop never had a palm pad in the first place, or I thought the original was packaging and disposed of it.

According to the packing slip, I also received a new LCD bezel. When the mood strikes, I’ll look it up.

While the laptop was out of commission, I used the desktop, which was fine, but the straight-backed chair discouraged me from writing as much as I otherwise would have. I also felt that the discomfort somehow stifled my creativity.

When the laptop returns, I thought, I shall write like the wind.

The laptop has returned.

The bezel, it appears, has nothing to do with wind speed or acceleration.

Consequently, I must end this post and be on my way. Real life beckons.

Mrs. Hinderleitner, carrying a sign that reads Save the Siluro River, is picketing Molly’s place of business, and a righteously indignant Molly is headed outside to confront her.

I have to get there in time to grab a front-row seat.