Oh, Lindir! Don’t move!
There’s a little kitten sleeping on your lap! Aww, and it’s purring!
Ah. Yes. I am aware. I have not moved for three hours. My legs are numb. My tea has gone cold. I believe I have witnessed the passing of several seasons from this very spot.
And yet—I shall not stir.
You see, yes, I have been missing. I was swallowed by paperwork, consumed by correspondence, and mildly electrocuted by an unfortunate experiment involving Glorfindel’s “new and improved lantern design.” I emerged from these trials battered, sleep-deprived, and on the verge of becoming a whisper in the halls of Imladris.
But just as I was about to reclaim my life, gather my quills, and write to you all… this kitten. This divine, purring entity. This tiny warm loaf of whiskered joy leapt into my lap, curled up, and promptly fell asleep with such violent peace that I dare not disturb it.
So I remain. As a chair. As a willing prisoner of soft fur and delicate purring. I have accepted my fate.
If someone could please bring me a cold drink and perhaps a snack that can be consumed with one hand and no sudden movements, I would be eternally grateful.
