Olga is home. She arrived yesterday afternoon with a mysterious rash on her chest, but otherwise lively and full of vigor. (I'm guessing she'd crashed through a patch of nettles, or something comparable, in pursuit of a squirrel.) I took her immediately into the back garden for a round of Kong chasing, and then she came inside, made a nest on the sofa and slept for hours.
I think she's glad to be here.
Surprisingly, I don't have any reports of great mischief on her behalf. She did apparently hunt incessantly (and fruitlessly) on her walks, but that's no surprise.
My Mexican pottery skull from Cozumel, which we have nicknamed Ernesto, also survived (?) our vacation, and transportation in my checked luggage. He's now on the living room windowsill, easily the most colorful non-sentient being in the room.
Bureaucracy. I hope Olga appreciates all this effort. I suspect she doesn't.
Also yesterday, I finally gave Dave his Christmas presents. I got him a gift card to a local cookshop (for kitchen things) and bought him what, in retrospect, is an astonishingly insensitive cooking device. I found an updated, yet kind of retro, Swiss fondue pot -- and only belatedly remembered he's more or less stopped eating cheese because of his dietary sensitivities. Good grief. I'm a terrible person! But he thought it was funny and pledged to use it anyway.
The suitcases are unpacked and the laundry is done. As happy as I am to be back to routines, I did feel a burst of post-vacation sadness as I lay in bed last night. Our cruise with family was such a great adventure, and one that would be impossible to coordinate again -- especially with my little nieces growing by the minute, and the Moons and all the other participants. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event, for sure.