Frank and Pearl are on a rampage. Today's storm is predicted to be worse than yesterday, and even at this early hour, the cats are racing up and down the hall, up and down the stairs, and ambushing each other around every corner. They made a quick trip outside while my coffee was perking, and wanted right back in. They hold wrestling matches, which Pearl usually wins, in the living room. If they could people speak, they'd be saying, "We're bored. There's nothing to do. We're b-o-r-e-d!" Thank goodness they can amuse each other.
Cabin fever has also hit the Silkie coop. It was a good thing the rain let up a little yesterday afternoon, because one of the striped chicks jumped ship and was being protected in the yard by a bedraggled nanny who seemed very glad to see me last night. If chasing a faster-than-lightning chick was funny when it was dry, it was downright ludicrous in the wet pen. I was slipping and sliding, the chick was yeeping loudly, the hens and Musashi were cheering from the bleachers (I don't know which side they were on), and we could probably sign this act with Barnum and Bailey. I'd filled the holes that would have allowed the chick to get under the Taj, but there's a narrow gap between the house and the fence and, of course, that's where Chick would run. I'd go to one side. Chick would go to the other. We played this game for a bit, until Chick finally made a break for it and I was able to corner the little one and tuck her/him in with the others.
Bessie Anne is perfectly willing to be a couch potato as long as she can curl up on my lap. It's a day-long struggle to keep the fire going, as all the wood is damp or soaked, so she opts for the warmest place she can find. Bess is a fifty-pound lump, and she moves aside begrudgingly when I need to get up.
I'm not going to address the goats and Poppy. They let their feelings on the subject be known at every opportunity.
We will all be so glad to see a sunny day. It's the only cure for what ails us.