Since last I posted, I have aged. My whiskered pug mug is going grey and I am a little paunchier. But my mind–when not fried by the searing Florida sun–is still sharp and shows no signs of plaque formation.
We (hume and I) have suffered the slings and arrows of sling-shooters and archers, and are holding up as best as can be expected. Hume is always in the throes of self-doubt, superstition and dissatisfaction with recent gainful employment, but what matters that to me? My chicken tenderloins appear with regularity and I still sleep in her bed. So, what else is new?