Nobody here but us chickens

While I scoured the bathroom this morning after Hurricanehead's all-night virus extravaganza, Wanda peeked in to supervise. Despite the shorter days and cooler temperatures--coolness being relative, of course--she and Neutron are still cranking out eggs like it's summertime. I don't know how they make time to keep an eye on me.

Hurricanehead seems to be on the mend this evening. It's tough for me to get a good read on him when he's sick because he gets quiet, unlike the rest of us who seize the occasion of minor illness to practice weeping, gnashing our teeth and making absurd requests. Whatever he's got, it's definitely not a Man Cold or Crouton Shard Lung.