G > S **Headline** They were not in the right headspace[^1a][^1b] due to having other stuff going on, namely their cat being under the weather. --- **Recommendation** Attendance may not be 100% due to unforeseen circumstances relating to the attendees. --- **Evidence** [^1a]: "I was not in the right headspace. My cat was ill, but it turned out to be a fart of biblical proportions. It sounded like the Horn of Helm Hammerhand being sounded before the Rohirrim charged into the attacking Uruk-hai forces that had marched from Isengard. It began low, a rumble felt more than heard, the way one feels the approach of cavalry through the ground before the ear can name it. And then it rose - climbing, swelling, gathering itself as though drawing breath from some ancient depth - until it broke, full-throated, across the plains of my living room, and the cat and I both understood, in that instant, that no power of Middle-earth could stand before it. I did not attend the event, because in that moment, I was not myself. I was Théoden King, and my sofa was the deeps of Helm's Deep, and I would not abandon my post while the horn yet sounded. The cat bore it with the dignity of one who did not choose the burden thrust upon them, but would not shirk it either. There was a moment - a terrible moment - where she looked back over her shoulder at what she had wrought, and I saw in her eyes not shame, no, never shame, but something closer to awe. As though even she had not known what slumbered within her until it woke. She did not flee the room. She did not so much as flinch. She simply sat, in the wreckage of the moment, tail low, ears forward, as the sound built - layer upon layer, note upon note - rising to its crescendo, and in that crescendo I heard the sound of every horn ever blown atop every wall ever besieged, and I understood that I could not, in good conscience, leave her alone with what she had summoned." [^1b]: "She did not like the brand of tuna."