September 10, 2002

It’s like living in a menagerie. Before going to bed, we (Johan, mostly) run about for half an hour chasing mosquitoes, because neither of us can sleep well with them buzzing around our ears; 14 was last night’s tally I believe (and that left at least 8, killed this morning before we even opened the front door.) When we wake up, as often as not it is to the sound of a plaintive cat, insisting that it is time for us to let her out. How can such a lot of sound emanate from a thing that small? (No, we don’t have children. Why do you ask?) Or else it is the other cat, stomping around on my chest and purring like a sewing machine. Yes, very sweet, only not at 5 am. . .

Menagerie, hah — we are living in Noah’s Ark.

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