kitten sits on the floor mat by the shower and watches me until I’m done and open the shower door, when she jumps into the shower and walks around licking up some tasty shower water (could I have said “shower” any more in that sentence?). Friday morning I hadn’t yet showered, and was waiting for the water to warm up, which she apparently didn’t realize, because she took a flying leap onto the shower seat, and sat there for ten seconds or so, trying to figure out why water was hitting her in the face before she freaked out and flew out of the shower and down the hall with her tail sticking straight up, like a kitty bat out of hell. Damn. I can’t believe it’s practically July. We had a nice sunny day Friday, and another Saturday, but three bright, sunny days in a row was apparently too much to ask for; it’s been overcast ever since. We’re growing catnip in a hanging planter in our backyard, and it’s growing very well and very quickly, so we harvested a few leaves Saturday. Spanky always eats his catnip immediately and goes trolling for more. The other boys take their time, sniffing and rubbing on the catnip before they eat it, especially Spot. The kitten, however, had no interest in the catnip, and just watched the other boys quickly get stoned, with a cartoon question mark hanging above her head. Spanky always gets really paranoid after eating catnip, whereas the other boys get relaxed and roll around on the floor a lot. Perhaps this is because Spanky is a spaz. I talked to the spud last night on the phone. It’s always difficult talking to her on the phone, because her answers always consist of “yes,” “no,” and “I don’t know,” so the conversation didn’t last long; just long enough to ascertain that she’s not being abused, she’s not dying of boredom (as if! she has Brian to play with, and I understand they were on about their fiftieth game of "go fish" last night), and she’s having a pretty good time. My god. This made me tear up. I’m having a klutzy day (I should find a graphic for that, with a foot in a cast); it’s not even noon, and so far I’ve walked into my cardboard Cartman poster, scraping some skin off my shin (ha! I’m a poet and didn’t knowit…), and hit the little toe of my left foot on the doorjamb (I screamed in pain, and all the kitties came running). Those fucking little toes are about useless, aren’t they? They never do anything but get kicked into the doorjamb. I wonder if my insurance would pay to have them removed. But then, knowing me, I’d just bang the nub where my little toe was into doorjambs and such. Because that’s the kind of klutz I am. ]]>