Separate names with a comma.
I was up early this morning, as I usually am so I can get the laundry done without having to fight the throngs at the laundromat, and as I'm sitting and reading my emails, my S.O. stumbled into the room. She sits down and has a perplexed look on her face. I asked her what was wrong, if she had a bad dream. She says, "I couldn't spin the cat wool into yarn fast enough." Why did you have to do that? "I needed to knit a horn cozy for Luna. I took the cat wool and spun it into yarn, but it was taking too long. She was standing there tapping her hoof, saying, 'My horn isn't getting any warmer, you know.'" After a hug, at which I'm trying not to laugh too hard, she says, "And then Celestia wanted one too. I only had one cat to gather the wool from. I had to tell them, 'I'm not shaving my cat for more wool.' So I went to talk to Fluttershy about brushing Angel for some bunny wool. Bunny wool is as good as cat wool." I'm guessing that didn't go well? She shakes her head. "Angel would only be brushed after he had his special salad. And it wasn't cherry season." By this time, I had to leave to do the wash, so I reassured her that they'd just have to wait for their horn cozies. I spent the rest of the trip thinking about how, after ten years, this sort of thing doesn't really faze me any more. I also regret that I can't draw, because I would have totally sketched out the first part of the dream.
