There's been lots of chasing. I had an empty translucent bin set up as a stalking aid/toy, and at one point it collapsed upon Working Title Amos Otis, like so much rudimentary animal trap. Poor little fella, for the 20 seconds he tried to figure that one out, before I rescued him. They're probably both going to sleep well tonight.
It was all I could do to remind him how to get to the litter box when it was clearly, er, needed.
I don't think he can get in too much trouble out here, at least if I keep an eye on him, but he's currently standing on top of the bird seed, climbing the old long dog rope up to smell the scraps of bow tie material hanging on the wall.
Material from today's isn't there, however, as this one was store-bought, in the early days of bow tie procurement:
explains the bad tying. (See earlier post on thumb slicing.)
Had an especially roll-up-the-sleeves therapy talk today. It's not clear how much my state of late is related to a welling up in the chronic insomnia, big changes coming at work, and/or a damned holiday weekend after months of pandemicry---not that I'm saying I'd prefer to have been working. One can't always know what's going on, after all. But I did get a funny new thing in her impression of what my alarm might be saying when it goes off.
Ach, he's tunneled behind the little bookcase by the piano with the dog crate leaning against it, since it's not in the nursery, since a nursery isn't a storage room. TTYL.