So apparently it's 2018 now. Somehow we're not dead. Kind of a surprise. I've been awaiting the fall of human civilization for about a year now. You think I'm kidding, but this is why I have sedatives. I assume my readers aren't dead, anyhow; if you are please leave a comment and let me know what kind of bandwidth you get in the beyond, and if you're still stuck with Comcast even if you've led a virtuous life.

Flathead is feeling better. I honestly thought he was going to die of snurfles, but a couple of days ago he shoved one of one of the other critters off their front porch when he noticed I was petting the wrong rat, so clearly he's recovering. He is not 100% and given his age may never quite be again, but I've also caught him shoveling corn and tofu into his eensy little face with both hands, and last night he sat on Grue and forcibly groomed his brother's head for no real reason. In rat terms, an appetite and strong opinions are both good signs.

I traditionally give myself a month to come up with my new year's resolutions. It usually takes me about that long to dig myself out from under the feeling that I have failed to accomplish anything of any note in the preceding year, and figure out something saner than "I will dig a very deep hole and hide myself in it so that I never bother anyone else ever again". Right now that's about where I am.

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