Day five of furlough. I rose at 6:30 to the sound of the morning briefing. Remington, now officially Sergeant-at-Arms of the Living Room, delivered it from the hallway rug. Her opening statement: “WOOF.” Translation: all clear, though she suspects the construction guys of espionage.
Breakfast was a 7 cheese bagel, steady rations for uncertain times. I considered adding fruit but decided against it; reckless spending isn’t the answer.
Mittens filed his follow-up report from the windowsill, declaring “The bird has retreated but may return with reinforcements.” Tabby immediately spun this into a scandal, suggesting the bird had inside help. The situation escalated until both parties knocked a pen off the coffee table and dispersed to their respective caucuses.
Remington’s next update warned of a “foreign incursion” at the front door (a passing Amazon delivery). She neutralized the threat with ten seconds of sustained barking and one triumphant “boof”. A commendation is under review.
Between security alerts, I revisited Shutdown Blues (Gallbladder Mix). I recorded a verse between sleeping and coughing fits. It’s shaping up to be an anthem, part recovery ballad, part protest song, all confusion.
XSplit performed admirably during stress testing. I added a transition titled “Crisis Swipe.” It feels appropriate.
Morale check: firm. The Living Room Republic remains secure, though the sock coalition has demanded a national anthem. Remington has offered to perform percussion by tail.