I throw the laundry into the dryer in the basement, then head up the stairs to gargle with hot salted water.
The nightly whisker count: Kaylee is bedded down in the bathtub (the cast iron is still warm from my bath). Zoe is in the basement, looking for Kit Kat (who, sadly, will never appear again). Sheba is in the bathroom, asleep on a towel next to the sink that is designated a cat bed. (Towels for humans hang on the racks.)
A teaspoon of Grade B maple syrup and I'm off to bed. This cold is making me crazy.