Love, Spoochi

Sometime Christmas evening, I ordered Joan Didion's The White Album from the Amazon Marketplace and promptly forgot about it until it arrived in the mail yesterday. Thumbing through its yellowed pages, I found a postcard that had been wedged in the spine, equally yellowed but in otherwise good condition. Being the overly sentimental person that I am, I immediately went about devising a way to return it to its original owner. But then I realized that it had never been mailed. And then I realized it was from a cat.

Dear Dad,
I thought it was time you knew what went on in the flat when you go to work. I realize Mom likes dressing up in her "outfits," but she now includes me on the costume changes. I feel ridiculous. I am supposed to sleep and eat during the day - not be a vaudevillian. We have reenacted this shot many times - it reminds me of a cheap party trick. If there is anything in your power you can do about Mom finding full-time work so I can go back to leading a normal kitty life, I would be most grateful.
Love,
Spoochi

Where I sit...

Day in and day out, flanked by our diabetic family cat (I had originally written this as "fat" - freudian slip) as he lies on the floor and pretends to preen. The dining room has become my new office. During the day, there are jackhammers and at night just the dull, gurgly hum of a window-unit air conditioner. If I were any more motivated, I'd try for something more comfortable and less... everything I just mentioned, but ah well...

I wrote this piece the other day and found out that it was published (Web style) today. I did not come up with that title, but it works well. My essay aside, Double X is a great blog -- one I highly recommend to guys and ladies alike.

Time to move to another room! My butt is beginning to bear the imprint of the pears embroidered on this dining room chair.