My wife and small son have been gone for several days.  I stripped and
painted the mantelpiece to keep from being lonely; rounded up some friends
and saw "Independence Day" ("NOT a chick-flick," my wife said, though Sukie
laughingly set me straight about that); and then read some of the books I
wanted to read (which is to say books that do not begin "One Fish, Two Fish,
Red Fish, Blue Fish").  After that I got lonely.
 
I was sitting around with my morning coffee, lonely and loathing the
bike-ride through congested (earth-killing and soul-draining) traffic to
work.  Little nip on the sock-tip.  Winston, the stray we adopted, who I
nursed through ECE, sleeping next to the cage because he would only drink
water out of my hand and needed rehydrating.  Another nip.  He's
peripatetic, wants a pick-up.  He likes to be cradled and to have his ears
scratched.  God, I haven't done that in too long for him.  He started to
lick my cheeks as I scritched.
 
Another nip: Derrida, my deconstructionist ferret.  She's my first ferret:
she would sit on my shoulder while I played at a local coffeehouse, and I'm
sure helped the pass-the-hat harvest.  She likes to crawl inside guitars,
_loathes_ the key of G for some reason, and tries to gnaw my hands off when
I play harmonica.  Another pick-up.  I'll be late for work, I thought, and
it serves them right for not taking care of me like these two.
 
We wrestled for an hour.  I was late.  I don't care.
 
        Peace,
        Otter
[Posted in FML issue 1634]