So I had an audition on Sunday for a ballet performance that my studio is doing in February. It's a series of three fairy tales. Should be very cool.

In an unprecedented alliance, the likes of which have not been seen since Janeway made treaty with the Borg to defeat species 8472, Meeko and Luke have struck an accord.

Luke, naturally, takes no quarrel with the cats on principal. In fact, he’s generally in favor of them with a degree of enthusiasm that often takes them aback – aback couches, atop of furniture, over baby gates... any port in a storm. You can imagine, then, my surprise to find Meeko willing sitting next to Luke and purring while Luke laughed himself silly and jingled his new little toy.

Wil Wheaton blogged about this earlier today, but I’m going to recycle the info in the name of educating the blogosphere. (I know many of my readers follow his blog as well – sadly, the reverse is not true – and to you folks, I apologize for the duplication.)

On Sunday it hit 106º. Four days later, I’m pulling on a sweater and shutting the windows because it’s too bloody cold out. (To be fair, sweater weather is 65º in Shannon-Land – it’s not like there are icicles forming on the lawn or anything.) Last night while Shawn and I stayed up reading Harry Potter and making pumpkin ice cream it was probably in the 50s outside. A 50º temperature range over the course of a week seems like a lot to me.

This is a public service announcement. I am shutting myself up in a hole until Shawn and I have finished what my mother-in-law jestingly refers to as “The Book That Must Not Be Mentioned.” Do not call me and ask me what page I’m on or in what chapter I must be prepared with kleenex. I’m screening my calls. I have filters running on incoming emails that search for magical keywords and then places them into a junk mail folder. I’m avoiding TV, radio, specific internet locations, and all feathered members of the order Strigiformes. Stay away until I’ve finished the book.