It's all fun and games until someone sucks in a fuzz ball

Yesterday, our heavy weight champs, Milo and Otis, weighed in at a whopping 2.4lbs. [That's right, we know how to raise 'em plump 'round here!] They now satisfied adoption requirements and we had to leave them at the SPCA. And, because of a temporary neighborhood issue, we left the SPCA empty handed.

After running plenty of errands uptown, we headed back to our little home in Ste-Anne. Tom worked on the computer while I made dinner. But, when I didn't have any small animals to fend off when I dropped a piece of salmon on the floor, and when Tom didn't have to lock himself in the computer room so no little furry beasts would get in his way, empty-nest syndrome really sunk in. So, we began to stuff our lives full of things to keep us occupied:

We picked out our favorite wedding pictures and painted cheap picture frames to put them in.
  

We erected a new shelving unit and a new lamp.


We baked cinnamon buns,
  
but I think the fumes from the verathane made us a little giddy.


And one of us fell asleep while watching Planet Earth.
(Guess which one!)


But you see, the real fun wasn't over yet. When we nestled into bed I told my husband, "This was such a productive day, I wish it wasn't over yet." And with those words I rolled over to kiss his cheek good night and began to inhale to let out a sigh. And that's when it happened; my life nearly flashed before my eyes. A piece of fuzz from our fleece throw was violently sucked in -- it proceeded to lodge itself halfway down my throat. The next few minutes were filled with hacks... then coughs... then I threw up, many times.

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