Mabuhay, Mes Amis, and Have a Nice Day!

"Quick, quick," I thought. "Wake the Fredster up, roust Sven and Bianca from their *very* original sleeping configuration (inspired by a shared Olympic synchronized diving obsession) and gather the Feline Remnant!  Hurry!"

These are not my average early morning thoughts, which normally range from "Oh, my God, please, Sweet Jesus, O Holy Mary, I cannot do this again." [as in "...live another day."]  The coda is normally, "Christ in a freaking hand basket, where are my pills?  Where is my grabber?  Where are my legs?  Why is there air?**"

After invoking this cheery crowd in the Medieval Kitchen, after the 20 minutes required to make each one a coffee with my one drip Melita cone (I broke the café presse last week), such that I was pouring Sven's stein a refill just after serving Marmy Fluffy Butt her first 13-ounce café au lait porcelain bowl.  

It didn't matter!  Their grumbling mumbling and weird kinesio tape art (another London 2012 fad) and gigglingly timed requests for coffee top-offs could not, would not, defer me from my joyous intention.

Okay, it *was* difficult to ignore La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore, who has reached Tagalog in her project of artistic translations of Gounod's L'Air des bijoux ["Ah ! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir"], such that there was a constant back beat groove of "Ah! kong tumawa upang makita ang aking sarili kaya maganda sa mirror na ito."

She finally paused in her Filipino practice session to request a cup of hot tea with lemon and honey, and everyone else had worn their wit out;  My moment had arrived.

"Good morning, my friends! Magandang umaga, ang aking mga kaibigan!  Bonjour, mes amis!" I began with good cheer writ large upon my face.

"It happens so rarely," I began...

"Oh, my God.  The miniature gay minotaur went after Field Marshall again," moaned Sven.  Field Marshall is 6ft 5ins tall and still growing.  He's the largest bull in the world and has not shared with us, as yet, his sexual orientation, although he seems to enjoy his stud work well enough.

"Crap-and-a-half," yelled Fred.  "The garderobes are blocked, and right on time, it's our busiest day in ManorFest.  I HATE medieval architecture...  Would it KILL the Haddocks to fork over enough for a dozen port-a-loos?  Do you KNOW what it takes to unclog a blocked garderobe conduit, DO YOU?"

"Fred, dah-ling," purred The Castafiore, "All caps, this is tantamount to shouting.  And it is too early to shout, yes, my Fred?"  She's been baiting him nonstop ever since he put her on the midnight-to-3 AM ManorMaze Rescue Duty

"*Ack*::*Ack*" was Marmy's contribution, while Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten delicately placed his freakishly large paw into my now cold caffeinated beverage, leaving something small but indefinable floating on my careful foam.  Dobby assumed the Perfect Cat Position, and would not budge, no matter the rising kitchen tension.    

I began to dole out the heart-healthy and delicious sweet chocolate oatmeal with raisins that I had made, with love, and half-and-half.

That got my Big Girl Diva's attention right away. Bianca's is made with golden raisins soaked overnight in rum.  Sven prefers a dark bitter unsweetened chocolate and eight individual packets of Domino's Sugar and Stevia blend, and Fred ruins his with Organic Amber Agave Nectar.  The cats add a quarter cup bonito flakes and forego chocolate and sweetener.  And oatmeal.  

With everyone finally happy, and silent, I finally got to my intended objective:

"I just wanted to let you know that I slept well, don't have a fever, and that I haven't had any CRPS dystonia activity in over ten hours.  I am not harboring, to my knowledge, even a single rancorous thought, and am filled with love and appreciation for each and every one of you.  Marmy left a poop on the stool by the window in the Baroque Music Chamber, when she easily could have targeted the Oriental Rug Room.  Dobby threw up on my new sari quilt,but it washed well, and since it's actually made of old saris, who cares that it faded another few shades? Buddy scratched a hole in the bag of liquified rotten turnips, after taking the lid off of our wheelie bin, and really, it had a homey, nutty kind of smell that we might consider for our next batch of Original Manor Potpourri.  Fred scratched my right shin with his untrimmed big toe but the resultant ulcer didn't even bleed.  Bianca got to Tagalog and my migraine preventive medication worked like a charm.

"Clearly, I'm having a good day.  

"I thought that deserved an announcement."

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** "Why is their air?" Cosby's third album, is my first memory of recorded formal comedy and I loved it.  Still do.  Much in the same way that I loved a catcher's mitt and wanted to use it in lieu of a proper first basewoman's mitt.  That may be how I built up my left wrist to such awesome proportions, a useless attribute because, right-handed, it did nothing to help my future forehand, but did inspire acumen as well as necessity for two-handed backhands.