10 February—First, heartiest congratulations to Leontyne Price on her 99^th birthday. The brilliant soprano retired from the opera stage some time ago, but who knew she was that old?

So just as I was sending out the link to yesterday’s daily disquisition, a plainclothes deliveryman appeared at the front door. He looked vaguely familiar and was holding a bouquet in a vase, more correctly known as a floral arrangement. When I told him he’d come to the wrong house, he assured me I was indeed the intended recipient, but that I’d lost weight and hair and generally aged since he’d last seen me decades ago—at the Torrington Gun Club, as he reminded me. Those were the days.

Anyway, who would send me flowers? First thing that occurred to me (naturally) was that a local Trumpublican whom I’d rubbed the wrong way by telling the truth about his lord and savior was planning to rub me out. On second thought, nah, I’m not that important.

Less lugubriously, then, aha, Valentine’s Day is approaching. So the nosegay in a jar must be from a former lady friend. But they’ve all passed, some out of town, some away. And the two or three out of town must be glad to be rid of me.

But why the hell was I wracking my brain when all I had to do was open the little envelope sticking out of the flowers. Shoulda thought of that earlier.

Well, it turns out the flowers were actually from the Chewy Family, with this note: “All of us are so sorry to hear about your loss. We hope these flowers bring you a smile and remind you of the love Cash & Maisie left on your heart. Love, Your Chewy Family.”

It happens that when I resurrected my account at Chewy with the arrival of Hope and Glory last week, I’d casually mentioned that Cash and Maisie had died, without giving dates of death. The operator, it seems, was on the ball.

Nice gesture, great PR. Like the regular 20-dollar-off promos. And Chewy, now majority-owned by PetSmart, has prices on some stuff that are better than Amazon’s . . .