In which the writer has the flu

What went before:  Woke up yesterday feeling extremely awful, and running a stoopid high fever.  Took myself to the clinic while I could, and Tests were performed.  I'm cleared for COVID, RSV, strep, but!  I do have the flu.  This, according to the doctor, is what passes for good news, because the flu only lasts "a couple days."  I'm to stay in until the fever breaks, wear a mask if I do go out, and avoid, well, people.

Sunday. Cold and sunny. Predictions are for snow.

Kettle's on for tea, peppermint and honey. Stirred, not shaken. Breakfast will ... likely involve toast. Today will likely be spent in the corner of the couch or in the Command Chair. I wouldn't say that I'm well (especially since I'm now a sneezy, drippy mess) but I have perhaps turned a corner, because yesterday I was content to just sit and be miserable, and this morning I'm grumpy because I haven't been *doing* anything.

On the plus side, I have discovered something that's even *more* boring to talk about than writing.

The cats have been taking this Health Emergency very seriously, piling on all three at once, though I'll note that the Rookie was left on nursing duty all by himself for a couple hours yesterday. He did very well, initially setting up station in the rocking chair directly across from the couch, later adopting a more paws-on approach, by coming over and sitting on my lap to purr. Boy, that cat has a purr.

So, that's what's happening hereabouts today. What's happening thereabouts?