le quatorze juillet

[quislibet]

Last year, for the Fête Nationale, J. and I were in a small town in Brittany, listening to a strange mix of the Amélie soundtrack, Lisa Gerrard, bagpipes, and some Andean band, while fireworks exploded (properly) and an old woodworker tried to give a small dog some beer while its oblivious owner told J. and our native guide (and me, although I didn't really follow) what, from the Jehovah's Witness standpoint, was wrong with French politics.

This year I'm home feeling kinda sick, and it's cold and rainy outside, and tomorrow I have a doom-filled ordeal to undergo for which I feel entirely unprepared. (It's a road test to get a much belated drivers' license; unfortunately, it's pretty clear that my driving ability has actually deteriorated in recent weeks.)

But here is a picture of a cat which is not being strangled: