I have just been transported, like a piece of luggage no less, on two airplanes through three climate zones into a barren, snow-covered wasteland. I will be living in the Rocky Mountains for a time, while my dear family is off on an twelvemonth adventure in a place that is apparently unfond of cats. Or so I assume, as there is no other explanation I can devise -- save perhaps a shortage of suitable edibles and napping situations -- that would prevent my being a member of the party. I have surveyed what is to be my living quarters for the year, have measured the walls and inspected the corners, and found it t be satisfactory. I am now going to sleep until I cannot sleep anymore, which, given my current state of discombobulation, I expect to be not an insignificant amount of time. After which, I will determine whether or not this house contains any Plato or Wodehouse.
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