I have an absolutely redonkulous cat.
His name is Notamus. Observe:
Notamus likes to be cuddled. When I'm sitting at this desk, watching Jeremy Brett (rest in peace!) as Sherlock Holmes, he leaps into my lap and proceeds to act as though he's Boneless Cat. His head lollygags over one of my legs, his hind legs stretch waaaay out, and he wants belly rubs.
His brother is not quite as redonk. Flashes will have none of that boneless stuff; instead, he likes to climb up my front and down my back. Cute, if it's a half-pound kitten doing it. Not so cute when it's an eight-pound cat.
I love my cats. They kept me from going over the hairy edge when I was stuck at home.
I also love pancakes. They're easy to eat, they're a good source of quick energy, and made with sour cream, so delicate they nearly float off the plate.
I love my dog. Duh. If there's a Zen master in existence right now, it's him.
No caption can do him justice.
I love the friends and family that I've got that have kept me from climbing the walls, and told me that I sound great, and generally been cheerleaders for me.
I love that I have a job where nobody really notices if I sound like a cross between Daffy Duck and Bridey Murphy when I get tired.
I'm happy that it's going to rain tonight and be cold and rainy tomorrow, and that I have a fridge full of Thanksgiving food that I *like*, including peach ice cream, and a nearly-full bottle of Dalwhinnie, and plenty of Jeremy Brett on Netflix, and a copy of "Young Frankenstein" that is just waiting for me to watch it.
I may only have one third of a mouth left, but I'm thankful with all of it. I hope your Thanksgiving has half as many things to be grateful for as mine does.