Back to the house and Brunch. Then to the office. The home office that is. Herself put me back to work today. Nothing too strenuous nor exceeding the 1 Kitnz mass unit restrictions. Herself took the laundry over to the laundry room; walking back and forth is good for me now. And loading laundry one or two garments at a time is well within the mass unit restriction. So some laundry done.
And some office organisation started, getting ready for the Big Uncle IRS Time. Mostly the book keeping is done up to date, so if I use TurboTax again that'll be fairly straighforward. However, along with the digital books goes the hard copy receipts. For a Ranch (Schedule F), for Herself (Carmenetta's Cottage Schedule C), and Myself (Photography Schedule C), and of course there will be Hospital's 1040 to line up. So a lot of receipts to move from file cabinet to Working Box which, coincidentally frees up the file cabinet for next year's receipts.
Along with this, Herself started cleaning house. Which greatly disconcerted the aforementioned KitnzOfApocalypse. Woa, Despair, and Agony on Me! Deep Dark Depression, Excessive Misory! The world is re-arranging!
Nephew J it seems is calling in a marker with his mother, Herself's youngest sister, about coming to visit Aunt Herself and Uncle MadShutterbug on the Ranch. So the Kitnz loose and the house gets cleaned up. Sorry Kitnz, your memory is short anyway. Same thing happened last year near this time, neh? All but Mean Old Mary Kitty anyway, who refused to be chased out of Her House by any stupid Foofergun (the vacuum cleaner), preferring to unlease The Look instead.
Monkey, do not even think about aproaching Our Royal Selves with that obnoxious odious invention. Nor did she move, making Herself wait for a bit before wandering to the far end of the Den Room Couch so Herself could get that portion vacuumed. Heh. Yah. Attitude. Look out Blues Brothers, Mean Old Mary Kitty is gonna teach you something about it.
Then, as evening arrived and time to feed the Bros came along, a horn sounds outside. Customer arrived to receive a goat. A live goat. A specific live goat. Do you recall the Stupid Goats of November, who all turned on Herself in a raging hormonally induced suicidal depression? I mean, why else would they turn on the one who keeps the Shooter in check? Why yes, folks, #3 departed the Ranch today. For $1 in hand and other valuable considerations, and the news is good for all concerned. We're happy, because a pain in the ... a pain is gone. Customer is happy, because he was looking for a good sized buck for a breeder, he wants to make slightly larger goats. Midnight doesn't know he's happy yet, but once he figures out he's not supper quite now I'm sure his disposition will improve.
So, following the Great Christmas Feast described in other entries, tonight we will dine on Pizza and Salad. Particularly salad. Yes, because I wants to keep those tubes open, eh?
Not bad for Boxing Day.