I got a call from a client stuck in traffic, a constitutionally disorganized cat lover whose adeptness at forgetting appointments or running late is somewhat compensated by her fondness for my kitties; she made a special visit to my new boy in his laundry room headquarters almost as soon as he arrived.
“It’s OK,” I said, “I was sitting half asleep with a poultice on my hand. The cat bit it.”
“What?” she said. “Torvald,” I clarified. “It’s getting better, but I’m poulticing till it clears up. I’ll just leave it on a little longer.”
“You hurt your hand pole vaulting???” she asked over the crackly connection.
“Watch the traffic,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”