Turkey, anyone? Actually, we’re almost out — the advantage of getting a small bird. Even with just the two of us there’s not much left, though that might merely be a testament to our tryptophan-addled gluttony.

Christmas makes cats go batshit. No, I don’t think Jennifer inadvertently switched the summer savory with the catnip (though they do look suspiciously similar). But now they’ve got all sorts of new things to play with. Discarded wrapping paper! Empty boxes! (New clothes get covered in cat hair before I even get a chance to try them on to see if they fit.)

Today, Goober knocked over and scattered an opened chocolate orange twice. Does he like dark chocolate? No — he was after the wrapper.

Dept. of Dangerous Gifts. The $40 iTunes gift certificate I gave Jennifer may have started something insidious: I’m sure she found more than a dozen albums she wanted to get. And the electronic labeller she gave me has already seen heavy use; I had no idea I’d get as compulsive as was depicted in ads for these gadgets a decade ago. (No, I haven’t labelled the cats. Yet.)