The lovely Dane and the tall Dunn have produced a lovely son, Asger, or "God-spear" in Danish.  He was born sometime on Saturday, but we haven’t gotten the details yet. 

(Edited–I just got the details.  Apparently I had the dates wrong, and Asger Matias was actually two weeks early and not two weeks late, which is actually a blessing because he was . . . wait for it . . . a hair shy of NINE POUNDS.  According to his Papa, "he has the lungs of a lion.   His new hobbies include crying, eating and diaper blowouts. Someone should have warned me of those. "  He’s a handsome boy, too.   What is even more impressive though is how gorgeous his Mom looks during labor.  I have too much of an instinct towards self-preservation to show you the pictures, but suffice it to say that Christine looks better in labor than most human women look on their wedding days.  She’s clearly a Valkyrie. End Edit)

I can’t remember whether it was Odin or Thor who owned the original spear named Asger, but either way, I’m expecting this baby boy to be mighty.  I want evidence of his adorable feet in some adorable felted booties.  And I want to finish present number two, but, well, Scath has other plans. 

I got some sad news this week.  My cat Scath has cancer.  He was clearly in respiratory distress, so we rushed him to the vet, and then from the vet to the emergency animal hospital, where he had some fluid drained from his chest cavity and hung out in an oxygen tent between tests, wooing all of the vet techs into petting him and discussing his Little Red Book (he’s a Maoist, you know, and very vocal about it).  I already hated cancer.  Now I hate it even more. 

Thankfully, Scath is feeling great and the vets have plans to keep him as healthy and comfortable as possible for as long as they can.  I know he used up one life as a kitten when he got horrendously sick (Ellery, I’m still sorry for the, er, incident in the kitchen).  He probably used another when he jumped from our third story balcony to the ground in Falls Church.  And maybe this weekend cost a third.  I hope he’s able to stretch those other six lives out for a long time.  Meanwhile, we’re spoiling him rotten.  If you’re not willing to participate in the Great Yarniversal Black Cat Worship Scheme, move on to another burg, buddy.  Here, we’re going to be all Scath, all the time.  Lots of catnip, lots of his favorite foods, lots of ear scratching, an abiding willingness to be cat-furniture whenever called upon–we aim to please.

I’m taking it so seriously that I’m letting his silken Majesty interrupt my knitting whenever he feels like it.  That’s big.  Huge.  And that’s really slowing down the Christmas knitting.  So, those of you who are wishing for lovely woolens from this particular wool-witch . . . patience is a virtue.  If you want knitting finished faster, come to my house and do Scath’s bidding.  Perhaps if he had more minions, he would deign to hang around a bit longer.  Perhaps. 

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