Another typhoon, a whiff of grapeshot & magic

Dear Gentle Reader,

Hello.

Sorry for the long period of e-silence. Your humble scribe has not been well and has been unable to post.

Further, while your humble scribe has been unable to post, apparently neither your Hero nor your Heroine were interested in getting their paws/hands into the mud or around a stylus to carve out cuneiform "letters". Not even e-cuneiform letters.  No lines at all. *sigh*

So, sorry for the e-silence.

Your scribe has been sick and heavily medicated for a bit of time... ...and then another typhoon hit last night...

...and this time the rainpersimmons (see the first update on Rainpersimmons...) broke into the house.  They changed tactics this time; they came armed.

The rainpersimmons armed themselves with grapeshot. (!)  

(An aside: 

Talking of successful rackets

Modesty deserves a mention.

Exclamation marks in brackets

Never fail to draw attention.

The poem is entitled "An Ode to Modesty" and is by the Great Dane Piet Hein from his first collection of Grooks

This use of exclamation marks is not an ode to modesty, but I think that it still proves Dr. Hein's point.  OK, back to the rainpersimmons armed with grapeshot.)

Your scribe is now able to state that nothing compares to being woken in the middle of the night by a whistling spray of glass and water thrown by rainpersimmons moving in excess of 100km/hour as they ride the typhoon winds.

No worries, gentle reader, your scribe hears your sudden intake of breath and the question which you dare not ask. 

Your Heroine is safe in India this week. 

You can exhale now.

Your Hero, Pommes, was unable to get a visa for India, so he remained with your humble scribe here in Hong Kong.  

Pommes was actually curled up beside your humble scribe, ostensibly worried by the whistling of the wind. 

I should also note, and quickly reassure you, gentle reader, that Pommes is fine too, although he was startled by the spray of glass and water. 

However, your Hero, Pommes, was so startled by the rainpersimmons' univited entry with their whiff of grapeshot that Pommes decided to perform a magic trick.  

Pommes transformed from being a cat curled up beside your scribe to being a cat curled up inside your scribe.  

At least, Pommes' claws curled up inside your scribe.  

One of the now-removed claws is pictured at the top of this post.

This magic trick certainly increased the drama of your humble scribe's already interesting and glittering night.  

I note that your humble scribe was undamaged by the rain and mostly undamaged by the glass.  He stays silent as to any damage inflicted upon him by your hero. And where.  He definitely stays silent as to where this damage may have occurred.

So, with that little tale of woe, your humble scribe is off to continue recuperating, cleaning the apartment, and organizing a new window.

Hopefully something noteworthy comes up by the scribe-imposed deadline of next Monday for the next post. In the meantime, your scribe hopes to curl up with a lovely eighteen year old or a twenty-one year old tonight seeing as how Regina is still in India.  

It will be Lagavulin if it is the twenty-one year old or Highland Park or Talisker if it is one of the eighteen year olds.

Be well, stay well, and I promise to see that your humble scribe sends a proper update this coming Monday.  

Tschuess,

Chris, Regina, and Pommes

Postscript regarding the apology at the top of the post:  It is unlikely that this great lag between updates will happen again because your scribe understands that blog posts must become temporally consistent, or people will not come back to check on the blog. He intends to post updates once per week, at a minimum. Make his day. Check once or twice.