The whole thing undoubtedly would have gone better for everyone if 1) I had remembered where the hell my state ID was 2) not attempted to replace my ID with a pile of mail one piece of which was addressed to someone else entirely and two pieces of which had the helpful identification of "resident", 3) the Grey One not startled everyone by thumping thump thump to the floor and running away to hide ("What was that?" "Oh, the other cat. Sorry, she's terrified of people." "I think we just have to check.") 4) I could've remembered which of the various keys in the laundry room actually worked for the back house, 5) the Little One not wanted to help, and by "help" he meant, "pick me up and cuddle me" a concept he best gets across by headbutting cops, and 6) Dispatch had not given the cops the entirely wrong address.
Fortunately two of the cops recognized me -- "Still using that electric trike?" -- which was enough to convince them to call Dispatch. Less fortunately the entire thing and trying to find my ID sent me into a pretty bad coughing fit and made me dizzy, which then led to an exciting conversation about calling for an ambulance and the strong suggestion that I should not be driving and I need to be very careful on the trike. After this they took off, to the great distress of the Little One since the cop wasn't petting him anymore. And before people ask, no I have absolutely no idea what all of this was about.
After that it seems kinda an anticlimax to mention that the latest Freddy the Pig post is up at Tor.com, and that I have found a new love in the Olympics, rhythmic gymnastics, mostly because that doesn't look as if anyone is about to IMMEDIATELY DIE and also does not involve running on broken legs, always a plus. Sure, a bit of an anticlimax, but we aim to keep this blog complete. Kinda.