Richard has been coughing since Sunday afternoon, and it sounds like one of my brothers-in-law also is sick. I was hoping I’d be able to avoid this, but alas, the coughing started today, and by the afternoon, I was popping ibuprofin every few hours to try to keep things at bay. Oh joy.
We watched 28 Weeks Later tonight. We’d both really liked the first one – 28 Days Later – and I guess maybe neither of us actually read any of the reviews for this one before we put it on the Netflix queue, but wow, 28 Weeks Later is just really, really bad. About a third of the way through, I looked at Richard and said that I didn’t have any need to finish watching it if he wanted to stop it, but by that point, it was so much of a trainwreck that we both decided we had to finish. I hear rumors that there may be more of these, and at one point I might have been excited about that prospect, but after watching that movie, I really hope they just don’t bother.
Now that Rupert has conquered the Christmas tree, and has encouraged Ingrid to do the same, he has moved on to bigger and better things. Like, for example, the plate rack over the window in the office. We’ve been in this house over two years now and not once have any of the cats ever attempted this before, but, well, we are talking Rupert here – the kitten with no concept of self-preservation – so I am not sure why either of us found this a surprise.
The best we can now do is just hope that this is one of those instances when Ingrid *doesn’t* feel the need to follow her brother. Goofy little cats.
‘Tis the season for Holidailies.