Beastly

Somebody nearby is taking advantage of the balmy evening to barbecue. I have pasta. My arse will get fatter than theirs, but they will be more likely to get heart attacks. Portia would probably prefer that I risk the heart attack and eat a big slab of meat, because she'd enjoy a bit of beef or pork, while pasta invariably disappoints her. She doesn't even like the cheese I put on it. If she wanted tasty table scraps she ought to have found a different home. Well, she'll get a small bowl of cream as consolation for the absence of flesh from the menu.

Squirrels (most likely, though large birds are also a possibility) have nabbed had of the walnuts I had drying on the back porch. Yesterday there were 23, today there are 21. I'm quite sure I didn't eat them in my sleep. You'd think with all the feral cats hanging about, the walnuts would be protected. Nope. You'd think the lawn would be protected from burrowing rodents, too, but there is a fresh mole heap on the greenest part of the lawn, where my recent watering has softened the ground. The cats are failing me. They don't deserve barbecue!