After having a bit of a cry* over the state of my cat’s health, I sat down to a cup of day-old coffee that I reheated in the microwave. Later, for lunch, I finished the leftover panzanella that I made for dinner on Wednesday and had eaten for both lunch and dinner yesterday. Leftover leftovers and leftover coffee. Neither does much to cheer one up.

I should probably take a page out of Conal’s book and find a good mood food, like his bananas. See, he’s addicted. If I let him, he would eat them at every meal instead of only one (OK, sometimes two) a day.

Our banana routine:

It starts with the furious pointing at the bananas on the counter, coupled with a call of Enh, enh, enh, which, in Conal-speak means, “I want that!”

Then there is the complete enjoyment of eating them. As fast as possible.

Finally, some post-banana relaxation. It doesn’t last long though:

Almost as soon as he’s done with the banana, he wants more. His new thing is to push the high chair away from the table and start demanding more bananas.

(Oh, yes. Those are monkeys and bananas on his PJs. A Christmas gift from his grandparents.)

Ah-hum. Things are still looking dreary around here, bananas or no. I think I will grab a bowl of leftover Mother’s Day fruit salad.

* * *

*Hidden from the little jobber — he was actually taking a nap when I sat on my bed, petting Mo, thinking about how awful it will be when he dies and how, if I’m this sad about it, I really should get my act together and give him his shot, whether or not Owen is here. But then I remembered that I have tried to do it alone and it is impossible so we’re back to waiting until tomorrow.

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