1) No sign of the HVAC guys.
2) If I had a dollar for every email I REALLY NEED TO ANSWER RTFN, I could afford to gas up my car twice over. *
3) I'm not a sickly individual, which makes me much crankier on those rare occasions when I actually do feel pooky. Like right now; my head would hurt less if I slammed it in a fire door. Repeatedly.
4) Did I mention that there was still no sign of the HVAC guys?
If you're reading this, I've figured out why Tommy wouldn't come out from underneath your bed this morning.
He was scurrying stealthily around the edges of the office. Under your desk. Under your chair. Hug the wall to the food & water dishes. Under my desk... When he went under my desk, I was afraid he might be trying to "stake a claim" to the subwoofer, so I gently nudged his bottom with my toe.
He inched reluctantly to the edge of the shadow of my desk, then made like a black spot of paint on the floor, all hunkered down and two big eyes staring at the ceiling. WTF??? Ah! The ceiling fan. Mighty tomcat does not like the spinny object on the ceiling.
I stood up to turn it off while he was in the room. Deprived of the shelter of me in my chair, he slithered over towards the litterbox, almost running head-first into it because he wouldn't take his eyes off the ceiling. He crouched behind the box until the fan wound down and, once it was safely still, climbed in, did his business, and wandered off down the hall cussing up a storm about strange spinning things on the ceiling.
He's not at all cool with ceiling fans.
* If I haven't answered your email, it's because either I really love you or I thought your question rated a very thoughtful serious answer.
Some emails are easy for me to answer:
"What year was my Smith made?" "1967."
"Does the Blastomatic 2000 suck?" "Yes. Big rocks up off the ground."
It's the tricky ones that give me trouble.
"Wow, Tam, we haven't seen each other in years! How are you doing? I didn't know you had a blog! I love your writing! Are you doing a book? Here's $10 for your tip jar!"
I can't just answer that with a "Yes", so I think to myself "Self, what we will do is finish writing this morning's blog posts, go have a cigarette and a cup of coffee, do this week's LEM column, fold laundry, and then give this missive from a dear friend the attentive and heartfelt answer it deserves." Which means that a month from now I'm curled up in a fetal ball, guilting myself half to death over the bajillion emails I haven't answered. One morning I'm going to do nothing but write people back. It will be easy to tell which morning this is, because I won't post anything on the blog 'til I'm done...