flossing the cat

I still haven't set up the voice mail system on my new smartphone. This troubles my husband, who fears I could Miss Out. "Somebody could be trying to get in touch with you", he says. "It could be important". The truth is that I hate anything to do with phones and/or leaving messages, but checking voice mail is the absolute pits. Checking voice mail is like opening up Pandora's Box, except that instead of sickness, death, turmoil, strife, jealousy, hatred, and famine, you just get guilt, guilt, and then, oh hello again, guilt. The voice mail on the landline is bad enough.  All week, the message icon has been flashing at me like The Eye of Sauron. "What have I done now? What? WHAT???" I scream. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!" Actually I don't scream, I just talk. To scream at the answering machine would be deranged. Meanwhile, my mind runs through messages it might be harbouring. For example: Is my mother worried sick a