The only thing electrifying around here today was the lightning, which crackled so violently that we all screamed and dived under the covers. Otherwise, I was corrupted by the influence of this creature:
variously known as Tube Steak, Fat Sack, Sporran Man, and Road Kill for his energetic lifestyle and resulting potbelly. Here he is in one of his 10-hour comas. The Child will kill me if I do not remind you that his proper name is CocoBop Velvetpaws. Hey, it's Friday...we're here, we're catblogging, get used to it!
In fairness, I should point out that during one of his Nibs' conscious intervals today, he was found vigilantly gazing up into the eaves of the laundry room through the hole in the ceiling, where the rain drips down; somewhere in the cavity wall above, we distinctly heard the rhythmic harsh squalling of a squirrel in distress or pique. (It sounds kind of like Lucille Ball's petulant "Waaaaahhhh" cry, only very high-pitched, metallic, and repetitive.) Bits of debris had also been dislodged from the cavity (by rainwater, or by tree-rat activity?) I'm not surprised; upstairs, in the walls of the "Plant Room," I've heard scufflings of late.
Gotta get that roof fixed...the thought of CocoBop entering the Matrix and chasing Bagel through the walls of the house is worse than the rain coming through.