Pete’s baking bread. We had long, busy days at the family stores, which is actually good. When we’re busy, time passes faster. It’s all a blur of festive tissue and wrapping paper and – POOF! – we’re home with our feet propped up while the bread machine whirs and squawks. The cats are curled up where they can touch us or at least keep watch: Topaz at my elbow, Drusy over my left shoulder and Sweetpea on an ottoman at our feet. They do not trust us. They dream of fishy treats and catnip mousies, but always sleep with one eye on us.