I am surrounded by lunatics

The sun has returned, its warmth once again bathing the Shmoollands in the soothing light of emergent living renewal... and yet, all the world is coming unhinged.

First, there's the Rodent, who has grown so long that I wonder if he might actually be nearing a mitosis-like separation into two distinct entities. For one thing, his rear half seems no longer aware of what his front half is doing. Many times now, I've seen him lay down to slobber upon his furry spit-squeakers, yet his back legs remain standing. He'll even go to sleep like that. Like a horse. For hours.

Conversely, I've also witnessed him arising from a long nap and setting forth with his back legs trailing limply behind, still asleep, like some ludicrous miniature walrus. And on several occasions I've noted that, when at a full run, his back end will actually pull to the left and begin to outpace and pass his front half, such that he is practically running sideways. I can only imagine what will happen the day his ass beats his face to the food dish.

Then there's Fabio, my brother, my poor feeble-minded brother... his bulb is finally down to its last filament, I fear. He has started singing when he poops. Not warbling, not chittering, not meowing casually to himself, but SINGING. Really belting it out, too. From down deep. For all to enjoy.

This scaterwauling of his reverberates throughout the fortress and the neighborhood in general. The Man, the Woman, the Rodent... we all hear it, and we all know exactly what's transpiring in the bushes out front. We avoid eye contact in a vain attempt to pretend it isn't happening, but we're all thinking the same thing, and our uncomfortable silence is punctuated only by the operatic MWOOOOOOOOWs from outside.

For her part, Woman continues to billow and bulge — containment of this bizarre abdominal rotundity might be possible, if only she would stop eating everything in sight. In goes the food, out goes the belly, and there seems to be no end to it. I've started eyeing the portals, and have begun my calculations on how much longer before she actually blocks my egress from the sleeping chamber. I will have just that long to work out my contingency plans.

And then there's the Man. Here's the real winner. First, he's hearing voices coming out of his typewriter. Pretty soon, he's having regular-as-clockwork (and completely one-sided) conversations with these phantom "colleagues" of his. “Meetings” he calls them. Yeah right, buddy. Even the Rodent finds this behavior disturbing.

But nothing — nothing — could prepare us for what came next:

Now he's talking to the Woman's belly. Speaking directly into her abdomen. The Woman doesn't seem to mind this, though it's entirely possible she's merely frozen in shock and horror at the sight of the Man addressing her rotunda in overly familiar tones.

Where all this leads next is beyond me, but I shudder to think how quickly everything deteriorated from tranquility into madness around here. What I wouldn't give for the smallest dose of sanity. Or, if nothing else, consistency.

I mean, right now I actually miss the damned crows.