The air is cooler, there are lots of clouds, hints of rain but no deal. Orion was up with a sore throat last night, led into a cold today. Fever kept him home on cold meds and juices with lots of Scooby Doo. How lame it is, how inexplicably well-loved all over the world. Rot the Rell?
The rats are running in the walls. I was up several times in the night to get ice chips for O. Heard them scurrying about. It seems they're coming in from the roof. My neighbor offered to lend me a couple of her many black cats...
I think it might be time to bring in a professional. My imagination conjures up all manner of character, professional rat killer, or humane trapper. Opposites, both eccentric to the sublime.
Sigh. I know it won't be anyone interesting at all. It will be someone with not an ounce of imagination and a clipboard with a rather large bill for me to sign.
I talk to Poppets sometimes. I talk to myself too, so it's not a big stretch. The first time we threaten to rip the hard drive right out of our computers (generally I tell mine I'm going to toss it into the pool.) we've already started down that road. I mostly talk to The Poppet Who Lives On My Desk. I've been known to talk to a rather large assembly of Poppets. It's quite an exercise, actually. Try staring at all those little upturned faces. Take a minute, then make your point. You'll see.
But Aubrey stunned me the other day when she asked, "Can Poppets hear?" I just stared at her. "Because," she said, "I always sort of assumed they couldn't."
Give it a moment. Let it sink in. All this time. How weird would it be if Poppets, always watching, were always only watching? If their observations of human behavior were conducted without the benefit of sound, what sort of impression would we make?
I'm just the maker. What they do after isn't up to me. I don't know. At least they wouldn't have to listen to Scooby Doo.