Up first: Gracie, who needs to have more pictures taken, because I’m noticing her goofball brother has about three times the pictures in my folder as she does.

Below: Tig, right after my Horde of Latina Women cleaned my house (and made my bed). Seriously. I don’t even bother making my bed on the day they clean my house anymore, because they actually remake it if I do. Apparently, my bed-making ability is not up to their standard.

Doesn’t Tig look like he’s on a throne here?

The UPS is warm and cuddly to a cat, seemingly.

She actually started getting better yesterday. I was up at 5:30 due to the fun side of perimenopause (I’m talking to YOU, hot flashes), so I was thrilled to see her out of her cat bed, and happier to see her eat the quarter-can of food I gave each of them. Last night, she came downstairs and slept by my chair while I watched TV. Today, Miss Gracie is in fine form. She’s talking again, following me around, waiting for me on the bathroom vanity to be petted, sitting behind my chair while I work (in the square of sun, naturally) mewing for me to pet her from time to time—yep, I’ve got my old Gracie back. Unfortunately, I have eight more pills to shove down her throat over the next eight days, but at least I’ll know that by then the hoarseness will be gone and Gracie will be her usual chatty self. She won’t be the lump sleeping in the cat bed 23 hours a day. And may I say: Yay.

1. This one proves that Tig 3.0, just like Tig 2, is a duuuuuuuude.

2. The view from my great room. Tig loves to look down on me.

3. See that outlet there? Gracie sleeps on it constantly. Sarah says that’s how she recharges.

4. A rare, rare, rare shot of Gracie looking silly.

This morning, I was upstairs in my office, when I heard wheezing coming from downstairs. Tig 3.0 has asthma, which is mostly controlled by not giving him grain-filled cat food. (Hello, they’re predators, wtf do they need corn for?) But since Gracie also has asthma, also brought on by allergies (dust and mold in her case; gone since I moved to Richmond, go figure), I’m familiar with the problems and keep an ear and eye out. Gracie once had an asthma attack so bad she seized and nearly died; lucky for her, we were leaving the vet’s at the time, and he saved her life (and diagnosed her with asthma; prior to that he was mystified by my description of her coughing). So when Tig wheezes, I find him and observe him until he stops.

The cause? Well, he choked on water. Yep. Tig regularly starts coughing and wheezing right after he drinks water, particularly from the water dish downstairs. I have one cat that is terrified of scary things like ants and the wind blowing. And I have another cat that chokes on water. Regularly.

So here they are, my two doofuses. Tig’s licking Gracie’s ears. Gracie is accepting his homage.

But wait—where’s Tig?

On the bed, of course.

Don’t bother me, man. I’m busy sleeping.

It’s a tough life, being a cat.

Pictures of Tig and Gracie to come later. I have another former student leading services today.

Tig wanted to get some exercise, so he was checking out whether or not he should use the Gazelle Glider. (Yes, he really is that long. Longer, I think. This is an old picture.) Update: I measured the Glider this morning. The E is 34 inches high. The second E—which his paw is covering.

This is Gracie’s favorite exercise:

And yet, she stays fairly svelte. That’s my girl.

But of course, that doesn’t mean he likes it.