And he got on the roof. This week has been brutal for both of us. While the kitten stays at home evacuating Fancy Feast from one end of the house to the other, i get up at 4:30 am every morning and hit the woods. This morning it was 14 degrees with an intermittent wind out of the SW. I'm seeing nothing to speak of....a doe here, a little four over there. The truck broke down a week ago and I haven't dealt with it. I limped home with screams coming from under the hood. There it sits. The worst of it was last night, when after a long day freezing my ass off, seeing nothing I came home to a world of shit...literally. What? You can't foul your litter box with your runny excrement? I think that was my bottom.
Speaking of "bottoms" I haven't even had time to comment on my old editors at PAPER MAGAZINE scoring Pop culture's version of the big buck- Kim Kardasian's ass. Like Franco in Madrid's tourist brochure, you won't find much mention of me in PAPER's historical compilations, but I was there. I wrote THE HOLY CORNER from 1989-1999. Every month they send me a free magazine. I have 'em all. Except this one. The ass cracking of the internet has somehow stopped my comp. issue. I'm sure it's just an oversight. I reminded DH that it was I who suggested Paris Hilton's dog's ass on a cover in the 90's and was politely shot down. Not soon after my column was scratched.
Coincidence? I think not.
Anyway, Cheeky's massive runny shits seemed to have subsided for the time being, but I'll never step in the tub again without checking. Tonight he somehow got on the roof. I had to coax him off straddling a step ladder, waving a flashlight. Then the phone rang. It was Shewho. I hadn't seen her all week. Tonight was to be our big date night. We were going over to Kate O's for a dinner with arsty folk. We were both psyched to get off the mountain. She was calling from the side of the road in WSS. Black ice had closed 52. She'd baked a pie ferchristsake. So here I sit. Where is that fucking cat?
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