Thank you for your good wishes!
The Scot is fine; he just gets collywobbles from time to time. He may be struggling to bring up a hairball. He and the Grammarian are both very good groomers, and groom each other, too, so there's a lot of hair going around. Once the Scot was observed to bring up a hairball consisting entirely of the Grammarian's fur. Now there's a good friend.
The Shakespearean Heroine is an old lady, suffering from some of the minor problems that old ladies often get, including constipation. (If you don't understand how that leads to the clean-up problems I had yesterday, I'm not going into it here. Ask your vet next time you're in, dear.) She is basically fine, but will be spending the next few days sequestered in my study so we can be sure she's pooping properly.
This sounds like the beginning of a tongue-twister: Portia pooped properly . . . .
Sorry. I've come to the conclusion that it is the human condition to have to talk about poop. If it's not worrying about the contents of diapers and the struggle to potty-train, then it's animals and aged parents. The only way to be refined is to be a childless, petless orphan, and even then, I bet the universe will swing around and hit you or someone you know well with IBS or something like that, just so you get your share. It gives me a certain insight into Chaucer's fart jokes.
And that, of course, leads me back to thinking about my fall courses. Maybe I'll write a bit to procrastinate on syllabi. Or vice versa.
Updated to add: I like my new yoga mat. But the Heroine peed on my desk chair.