Patches is old enough that it takes work to get her to pose.

Pout, babie. Pout.
Patches is old enough that it takes work to get her to pose.

Pout, babie. Pout.
I’m going into the office tomorrow. My second time since they reopened the building. I need to make a lunch, I need to wear a collared shirt. I need to not forget my freakin wireless headphones again.
I’m nervous about Covid, of course, but I guess I need to just put some faith in the two vaccine shots and the booster shot and just suck it up and deal with it.
Patches agrees.


I forgot to turn down the burner and messed up the quinoa. I had to throw on a second batch to recover and it wasn’t great.
Patches is totally judging my culinary skills, or lack there of.
Patches on desk patrol.

Ms Patches is pleased that the Bruins followed Thursday’s nasty loss with a win today. She’s breathing a sigh of hockey relief.

Patches rings in the weekend the way she rings in any old day: Lazily.

The Mandalorian has Baby Yoda. I have Baby Patches. She doesn’t use The Force. She just head butts my hand when she wants me to pet her.


Patches is a big fan of Jen’s cool headphone stand.

My desk is cluttered. Patches has less room to spread out. She looks annoyed yet she’s purring like a chainsaw.
So she’s mad, but she’s happy about it’s. Similar to 13 year old Harry Potter, yes?

It’s almost midnight. I’m still up. I’ve been thinking about tomorrow’s appointment. I’m still not freaking out. Will I tomorrow? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows.
Maybe I’m okay with this? It’s a Zoom appointment so it’s not a Covid risk. Maybe that’s why I’m sort of relaxed. Who knows.
Patches is hanging out with me right now. Maybe that’s why I’m okay. Who knows.
