At least, in my little corner of the universe, they are. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Gather round, my two readers, while I attempt to tell (re-tell) how things have been going here in LishyLand.
Up until a few days ago, I would swear that it has rained for the last month. Seriously. And if it wasn't raining, it was threatening to. So you have many,
many days that are just cold (did I mention it rarely got to the 60 mark?) and dreary and you just wanted to sleep. And so, on one of the days when the rain held off for a while (and the first day of my vacation), I went to my Mom's house to do a good deed. I went to transplant a cat. Yes, a cat. He needed a new home as Mom and Pop are moving and I am currently not suited to this particular kitty's needs. Here's a photo of him.

His name is Friendly, and he lives up to his name. Gorgeous cat. Horrible breath. I'll get back to that in a minute. Let me tell you about what happened
before I got the contortionist cat transplanted.
As I said, Mom and Pop are moving. They've been painting at the new place, and sorting at the old. So when I get there, they're at the new place. I decided to help Mom paint. In the bathroom. In the
small-ish bathroom. Given, this was probably my own fault, but oh well. Here's the layout. Walk in, immediately to your left is the sink and counter. Two people could possibly share the mirror here, if they aren't that large, and don't mind elbowing each other in the nose. Just past the sink/counter is the toilet, and along the back wall is the shower/tub. So anyway, I'm chattering away with Mom and my hand just kind of automatically picks up the little paint roller. You know, the one for the edging and hard to reach places. She's going to town with the normal sized roller and I just started helping out of habit. Hey, it kept my hands busy at least. So we're painting and chatting, chatting and painting. I climb up on the edge of the shower (barefoot) to get up by the ceiling. No big deal. Well, I can't leave big gaping sections unpainted. Call it one of my slight OCD quirks, if you will. As I get farther over, I decided to stand on the lid of the toilet. Now, I have to admit, Mom did tell me not to worry about the upper part of the wall, and like any grown child, I deftly ignored her. Fast forward a few minutes. BIG CRASH.
Yep, you guessed it. I fell off the toilet. Sideways. I don't think any normal person is supposed to bend that way. Both of my feet are on the floor between the toilet and the tub. My left arm is holding the other half of my body weight, and my right arm is just kind of wobbling toward the wall in front of me. It probably looked like some weird yoga pose, to be honest. I guess Lady Luck got enough of a laugh out of that and shared some of her good fortune with me, as nothing was broken, apart from the seat and lid of the toilet. However, I have a couple of hellacious bruises. But did I learn my lesson? No-o-o-o-o-o. I still ended up helping them paint one of the bedrooms as well. That time, I kept my butt pretty firmly planted on the floor, though.
So then, (yes we're still on the same day) I go to get Friendly to deliver him to a friend at work. At least one of us was smart enough to use the cat carrier. I've never had a problem with a cat in a car and not in a carrier. Apart from the yowling, that is. But this is my first time transporting one by myself. After he wandered around the car a bit, crying at me, he finally found a spot he felt safe traveling in. Unfortunately, this happened to be UNDER my butt! Under the driver's seat. It's just not right to feel your butt move when you're driving and it's not you moving it. So I get to work, park the car, turn off the engine, and sit there for a minute, thinking Friendly will come out or start meowing again or something. Lady Luck definitely got her money's worth that day. He didn't move a muscle. Didn't make a peep. I start frantically fumbling a hand around under the seat to find his head because by this point I'm thinking
Ohmygod, he's had a heart attack or broken his neck and died on the way. I find his head by blind luck (Thank you Lady) and he's still breathing. Next problem. How the HELL am I going to get him out from under there without A) him bolting out of the car and disappearing or B) injuring anything on either cat or car. After several minutes (which probably look like I'm praying on the security cameras), I managed to get him facing the back seat and have to push him out from under. It all went fairly smoothly after that. I got him in a bear hug, basically. Now he decides to meow in my face. Did I mention the
horrible cat breath? Yeah, I got an up close and personal whiff of it. We got him over to the other vehicle and I turned over the putting him in the damn carrier to his new owner. All reports so far indicate that he's adjusting fairly well and wasn't traumatized by the events.
Mother Nature has now decided to smile upon us and give us some sunny days and temps in the 60s for the most part.
Is it a bad thing when I need a few days off from my vacation?