Isabel Cuckoo

It has been odd, I confess, to live alongside another ymbryne after all these decades.

I am unaccustomed to seeing Miss Cuckoo flit about my kitchen with seasoning on her hands and a coerlfolk apron reading “Kiss the Cook.” Her lipstick stains my teacups, her Oxfords tread upon my Persian rugs, and her feathers nestle amidst couch cushions. When I wake in the night, I find myself in her company. With the break of dawn, a glass of water sits at my bedside.

It’s a comforting thought.

Sincerely,

It is with great solemnity that I announce the following:

I have fallen ill.

To my children, there is no need to oversee my care; Miss Cuckoo has taken a day off from Council duties (bless her avian heart).

During this unscheduled downtime, I invite you all to send inquiries to my account. Mind your manners in doing so.

With gratitude,

I do enjoy soupe à l’ail. As for blankets, my favourites are patchwork quilts; they’re wonderfully intricate. I’m uncertain as to how you’d “drop some off,” given that I’m at an undisclosed location, but your words are appreciated.

With gratitude,

I haven’t any idea how to send private messages on this modern telephone. Rest assured, the shoes were a purely platonic gift without any correlation to Valentine’s Day.

This is believable.

All inquiries regarding this unfortunate mishap will be met with no comment, or otherwise dismissed.

Respectfully,

Thank you for the shoes, darling. Is there an occasion that calls for such pleasantries?

I’ve finally done it. I proudly present to you:

A spreadsheet.

Isn’t it marvelous?

Isabel suffers from loop lag and doesn't properly treat it, and as a result she acquires one of the rarest symptoms: a spontaneous pregnancy. Then she gives birth to a baby, a clone of herself, and she and Alma will have to learn to deal with it.

However, I am unsuitable to children, and, Birds’ help me, motherhood! I am far better inclined toward politics and deals with Americans than toward the raising of kids.