good-night mr. scabs


It's 11:37 at night here in AZ and outside temps are hitting below freezing.  I'm wearing my long-johns tonight!  There's a man in the bathroom brushing his teeth.  The man I have chosen to love.  You know the sound brush, brush, brush, swish, swish, spit.

Girl Cat, who is bunny-soft and mean as a badger, is cuddled next to me on our fluffy white bed.  The silence is thick and the unearthly laptop glow is starting to hurt my eyes.

I've been writing tonight.  Returning emails and reading comments writing bits about last years fiasco with my paralyzed legs.  It's true what they say about the difference of one year.  

A few readers have asked your advice.  Do me a favor, read the Anonymous comments here and give your two cents.  Questions about what to do next and what to do about smart phones.  

With sparkling fresh teeth, Mr. Scabs climbs under the covers.

"Hello Mr. Scabs.  How was your day?

"It was good."

"What was good?"

"Well, everything.  Everything from therapy to baking bread (a new Mr. Scabs habit) to meeting with Laura (one of our closest friends who he apologized to today...I'll tell you all about this another time)." 

He sounds happy.

With that, Girl Cat tip toes across the computer screen, crawls up on his belly and begins her midnight purrrr.

Good night all!

p.s. the old Mr. Scabs would have answered the question of 
                           "how was your day?"