The Edgar Containment Protocol (BONUS EPISODE)

The Edgar Containment Protocol (BONUS EPISODE)

My friend agreed to pet-sit while we’re on vacation. Very kind. Very generous. Deeply underinformed. What should have been a quick walkthrough turned into an hour-and-a-half briefing on inmate transfers, restricted zones, medication resistance, protective custody, yard privileges, toilet paper removal, and Edgar’s known priors. I did not mean to train an apprentice warden. But here we are.

Boof Has No Survival Instincts (Episode 14)

After battling giant fire ant beds in the yard, I thought I was solving one problem. Then Boof decided to lick the ant poison, because apparently eating random household objects was no longer enough of a challenge. What followed was trembling, an emergency vet visit, a full-body guilt spiral, and the realization that I am now fully trapped in my Pet Wrangling Era. Boof is home, medicated, unstable, and deeply loved. I, meanwhile, have a migraine and would like to crawl under my bed for three business days. Please pray for Boof. And possibly for me.

Boof Is at the Mailbox (Episode 13)

Edgar’s prison sentence has turned into feline rehabilitation, and against all odds, it seems to be helping. Meanwhile, Boof has entered her roaming era, Mr. Darcy is still being ambushed by a kitten with no conscience, and I have begun threatening baths without actually giving them because I enjoy living. Small wins, bigger losses.

BONUS: Emergency Produce Protocol

Dave did yard work in Louisiana in June. I told him to hydrate. He said he did. At midnight, he woke me up looking for an avocado. This is a story about electrolytes, marital credibility, and why I am now suspicious of artificial intelligence.

Everything Is Feral (Episode 12)

Boof has entered her criminal era and is now eating duct tape, wrappers, pencils, magnets, and basically any object not intended for canine consumption. Edgar continues to manipulate me through the ancient powers of drooling, purring, and shameless emotional extortion. Mr. Darcy still expects his eight o’clock royal audience in peace. This is a household update from a home currently being run like a badly supervised animal asylum.