We didn't do a damn thing yesterday. We went to Mass Monday afternoon at 4 and got it out of the way, went home, and haven't been out of the house since then. Well, Mary left a little while ago to take Jethro to the vet. He's managed to lick himself raw Down There, and we hope it's just a nervous habit and not something more serious. Amy, one of the other cats, is limping around on three legs, so she's probably going to have to go in as well.
Mary and I do our own Christmas shopping (we buy for ourselves and assume that the other bought it for us), so she gave me a 4 GB flash drive, a book on Unix shell scripting, the previously-mentioned book on TV history and two other mystery-thriller books that I like (Robert Crais's Demolition Angel and Lee Child's Without Fail), and, if I can find where the cats have knocked it, an iPod case. (That's from them.) She got romance novels. Lots and lots of romance novels.
Mary's back from the vet. Jethro got an antibiotic shot, a steroid (like he needs steroids--he's already the size of a mountain lion), and an Elizabethan collar to keep him from licking. Amy will also see the vet today. I feel bad that I'm not able to drive yet and help out, but that's life. I'm sorta working today; normally I would have taken this week off, but since I had a long vacation earlier this year (at the hospital), I'm standing around with a hose to put out fires. Except that I'm going down now to have coffee.