I gave Orëveriel a hard time about the the whole shaving fiasco as reported in my previous record. I even went so far as to say that practically every foolish thing I had ever done, I had done on her council.

In Orëveriel's defense, occasionally, randomly almost, she gets things correct. And, often, these are the times I choose not to listen to her. This morning, for example.

Orëveriel was in her usual spot in the middle of the living room. Only, this time she was a giant calico cat. A six foot long calico cat. And did I mention she was wearing a neon orange rain jacket. This detail was difficult to miss.

I had not even put on my glasses, or changed into my work clothes, or brushed my teeth, when she said, "You should drive to work today."

I was still sore at her, so I ignored this suggestion and went about my normal morning routine, which now, tragically, included an obligatory morning shave. As I left the bathroom, holding a towel on my face, she had moved to stand, blocking the door, on her hind legs, paws on hips, bent at the waist.

"You really, really should drive to work today."

I lost it.

"Just like I really should shave? Really should grow mutton-chops? Really, really ought to go work in Mexico? No thanks. I can screw up my own life without your help." A tad melodramatic but that did the trick. She said something along the lines of "You sure can" and took her leave.

I took the train to work, like I always do, and everything went swell, until I left.

Turns out, there was a thunder and hail storm while I was at work. And all the trains were just sitting there, on the tracks, doing nothing for about an hour and half after I got off work. I am only just now coming within 10 minutes of the train station near my home, having left the office nearly three hours before. Giving up on the trains Dallas inner-city trains, I walked 3 miles to the transfer point for the TRE, which thankfully was only about a half hour behind schedule.

Sitting next to me on the train is Orëveriel, a six-foot tall erect calico cat, wearing a now soaked rain-coat and sipping hot tea (I know not from where) from a porcelian tea cup (from I know not where.) She hasn't said anything yet. She just looks at me, with the smug superiority that seems to always on the face of all cats.

I no longer look like me. I look like a very cold, very wet baby. And she, as a smug, self-satisified cat with a silent "told you so" expression, looks like no one except Orëveriel.

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