Today was teeth-filing day. I have to blunt the points on Caligula’s teeth at least once a month or he chews his way out of his room. Soon he’ll be two years old, but it already feels like twenty. I am beginning to understand why Dume parents rarely put up much of a fight when their children decide it’s inheritance time.
Senga is no help with this task. Her fingers don’t grow back as fast as mine and the gauntlets aren’t strong enough. We really need some titanium ones. Well, it’s done for another month and it only cost me two fingers this time. I’m getting better at it. I’ll try getting him some old car engines to gnaw on. That might reduce the need for this filing ritual.
Well, Senga is asleep and Caligula is howling softly to himself, the Rarely-Glimpsed Slimy Swamp Thing slithers gently in the swamp and the Ferals sound as if they’ve caught someone. Normality is restored, so I can at last get some writing done.
It would be faster if I had all my fingers, but we can’t have everything.