Most days, life around here is like a Victorian painting. Only with cat-in-red-boots sheets and fire hydrant photos on the wall instead of flower arrangements or a pot or a bowl of fruit.

We recline. We clean each others ears. We look dreamily out the window. Sometimes we doze.

We sigh a lot. Because life is pretty exhausting for us.

And when we smell bad, we smell very, very bad. And we wait to make another painting tomorrow.

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