Today I got dressed. I don’t really feel any better, but I wanted a change. This whole thing, this cough and cold, is getting ridiculous. I should be well by now kicking my heels in the air and whistling a happy tune, but, instead, I’m expecting the board of health to come by and tack up a notice that this house is quarantined.

Another mouse got a late night ride last night around 10:30. I checked the mileage, and we went 1.5 miles. His homing instinct is only good for a mile so I’m expecting he’ll set up housekeeping in the new neighborhood. No mouse in the trap this morning-the first time in a while, but when I checked it, the mouse had eaten the peanut butter. I didn’t set the trap right last night. The mouse count, though, is slowing down. We’ve made inroads. I’m still hoping the Pied Piper will drop by. I promise to pay him, unlike his last clients.

I started another novel, David Baldacci’s The Forgotten. I finished the Patterson yesterday, Private London, in quick time, probably about the same amount of time it took him to write it. There is a second author, Mark Pearson, and I figure Patterson throws out the plot to the guy who then writes the novel. The book wasn’t very good. The main character was a cliché: the tough guy with all the right words and really great aim who inevitably saves the day.

Of late, I have been easily bored, not something to which I am well-acquainted, but staying in the house limits what I see and do. I check out daytime TV, find nothing and turn it right off. I read for a while then I get tired of reading. I could dust but I don’t even like to dust when I feel good. My sister sent me a red chili wreath for Christmas and some of the peppers fell off in transit. I’m thinking of firing up my glue gun and reattaching those peppers. I think I’m really hard-pressed for some way to pass the time.

Today isn’t the day, but tomorrow I’ll have to go out to fill the larder and get dog food. I’m already excited at the prospect of being out in the world.