Dogs With Hands--ALWAYS FUNNY.

Right up there with hairy men in tutus.

Running Around in Circles

In a good way! Check out Baby Gracie, all grown up. She has her own friends, even.

OK, I'll Go There

I'm not a cuteness blog, but this can't be stopped.

Two younguns have joined our household recently. Above is Grace, who is now about 11 weeks old. The vet guesses she'll grow to 50 pounds or so.

And the sleeping view:



We've never had a puppy this age before, and it's an education.

And below is her brother, Antonio, who we adopted last fall. He's about a year old now.

Wearing Big Sweater but Forgot His Pants

Paging Doctor Evil! A shaved cat is a sight to behold. Check out Angus with his bare ass. His stripes are just starting to come in, and he's re-learning how to walk up stairs, attack his sister, and chase bugs! Doctor Not-Evil-at-All prescribed plenty of exercise.

One sobering thing: the shaving revealed some pretty bad burn scars. This is a bird's eye view--sorry the photo isn't clearer. Our little guy has had a rough life: burns, abscesses, a crushed hip, and a crusty eyeball! Sorry, Bud, wish we could have found you sooner.

Chow down! You're home now, crosseyed cat.

It's Hard Out There for a Gimp

Poor baby! Angus, the feral cat we brought inside way back when, doesn't act like he's in pain, but his right hip is completely messed up inside. We had no idea how bad it was until we got this Xray taken. Who knows what happened to him out there--or when. It's a good thing my dear hubby noticed his slightly lopsided gait and tendency to bunny-hop up the stairs. He'll be getting orthopedic surgery on Thursday, at the vet clinic where said hubby works. We're all pulling for you, Angus! Pretty soon you'll REALLY be able to attack your sister.

Will Wilbur Get a Sister?

News flash, we may be adopting this dog:

And while we're doing mug shots, a side view:

What do you think? I like her black nailpolish. She's about 2 years old and can jump really high. Will Willie like her as much as we humans do? What about the cats? And what the heck breed is she? A Corgiweiler? I'll keep you posted.

Congrats and Miscellany

Mea culpa, I haven't been blogging. Thanks everyone for your kind words about Boo Boo. We are getting used to his absence.

What I'm not used to is this economic state of affairs. Since I work in finance, I have been busy. In case you're worried, I believe my job is one of the safer ones. I work at a private firm, so no one is shorting our stock. I also don't get paid in stock. And I'm in risk management, which is one of the safer areas these days--unless you make a big mistake. So I've been focusing on not doing that.

Meanwhile, some folks on my blogroll are getting stuff done. I just read on Publisher's Lunch that Xujun Eberlein sold Hong Kong rights to her story collection APOLOGIES FORTHCOMING. Go Xujun! I also read on Publisher's Lunch that Summer Pierre just signed a 2-book deal for an illustrated volume (THE ARTIST IN THE OFFICE) and a calendar (GREAT GALS). Congrats! I love Summer's drawings.

What else? Jim Tomlinson's second story collection, NOTHING LIKE AN OCEAN, will be with us soon, as will Sandra Novack's first novel, PRECIOUS. Mary Akers completed a beautiful book trailer for her book collaboration, RADICAL GRATITUDE (or THE GREATEST GIFT, depending on where you live). I'm adding Stage Voices to my blogroll too, it's a cool resource for playwrights and actors. (I am neither, but I like the blog.)

I am addicted to the following: Crooks and Liars for my liberal elite news, Intrade for market-based odds on the election(Obama is at about 85% right now), and Television Without Pity, for analysis of Generation Kill, True Blood, and Lost. Who needs drugs when we have the internet.

Other news: I just went to LA to try to squeeze in a couple vacation days. Saw my brother in a fantastic play in Pasadena, The Sequence, about the human genome project. Also walked a lot, fretted about the office while not there, and ate as much sushi as possible. It was great to see my brother and sister in law.

And in cat news, this hat-wearing kitty is charming Japan and me. She really doesn't seem to mind the stationmaster's hat. Check her out!

Introducing a Fiber Artist from Japan

Fiber artist Angus Barr (and Cute Overload) introduced me to the work of this creative feline from Japan. We are jealous!

Here she makes her own "chou chou." She's really good with scissors and an iron.



Here she makes her own grocery bag out of regular bandanas.



Angus tells me rule #1 of fiber art is to document the process. Process is as important as result! Glad we are not alone in this feeling.

Farewell, Porkchop

Boo finally got too sick to bear, quit eating, no joy left. We had him put to sleep last Monday evening, September 8. He was more ready than we were. We are sure going to miss this guy.

Cat Hospice, and Other Developments

About time I filled you in on the pets, indoor and out.



Boo is terminally ill. We don't have a definitive diagnosis. After tons of blood tests, a sonogram, and an experimental treatment with steroids, we have decided to let him just live out his life without further intervention. We're continuing the steroids to help him keep what appetite he has left. The vet thinks it is probably some kind of cancer, but we can't know more without putting him under the knife, and we've decided to go with palliative care instead. This guy used to be a big fat pig, 18-pounder. Now he's barely 11 pounds, skin and bones. He walks around in a fog, takes a long time to decide to jump into the chair or take a bit of food. We're going to miss him, but have decided not to torture him any more with procedures he doesn't understand, procedures that would probably only lead to a dire diagnosis anyway.



Willie is turning into an old man hypochondriac. We just got his teeth cleaned. They are in great shape, no extractions, not bad for a 10-year old! So what if he has gray hair! I think it looks handsome on him. Quit, moping, Silver Fox!



He got a little razor burn from the day of dental(blood pressure cuff on his tail) and he decided to make a mountain out of a molehill, spent a day licking himself sore, unsupervised. So he had to wear his punitive e-collar for a week. Doesn't it look cute on him?

Meanwhile, we are feeding Boo whenever he indicates he might eat, which means the other cats are stealing and getting downright beefy. Angus is wearing the weight well, like a wrestler. But look at Ava! She's a marshmallow!



Our outdoor colony is down to 5 cats again. We are not sure what happened to the favored Pablo. Probably he got driven away by the diehards here. We heard some fighting one night and the next day he was gone. Meanwhile, Juno (and I WISH I had photos of this) moved around the corner and became the doorman at an apartment building. She went from shy to I-love-everybody. She just hung out under the awning and waited for people to come out and give her the love and food she deserves. I have no doubts that she has a new name now and a new indoor home. Go Juno!

Vince, Marcel, Rrose, Elvis, and Elvis are all doing the usual, the morning food choir, the afternoon lolling in the sun, the offerings of dead mice and birds all over our yard.

Guest Blogger Angus Barr on Stockholm Syndrome, Missing Cojones, and a Cat's Right to Be Chosen For

Hi, you may know me, I'm Angus Barr, brother of the famous Vince. I live with Anne and everyone else inside the house, which wasn't always the case for me. I used to be a shy feral cat, a few years ago, sleeping under the hosta in the front yard. But then I got a really bad abscess on my belly, and it slowed me down. Next thing you know, they're taking me away in the car, I'm put into a mysterious sleep, and when I wake up, I've lost my balls, have a plastic drain in my belly, and I live indoors. The crazy thing is, I like it, even after my belly healed. There's nothing like a warm lap. Plus, sometimes I get to surf the web with Anne. She moves the cursor around for me to chase.

As you know, two new homeless cats showed up on the back porch recently. My human benefactors took it upon themselves to cage them for a week, and take them away for a day to a mobile clinic. When they came back they were missing the top of their left ears. Oh, and all their sexual glands.

This one, Juno, developed Stockholm Syndrome somewhere along the way. I hear she was actually purring in her cage. This might have been because she was fixing to have kittens in there. It's sad, the choice Anne made for her, but Anne tells me there were over 20 homeless cats at the mobile clinic, all beautiful, some kittens, and the world does not need more kittens. I happen to agree with that. We have three cats living in this house and sometimes that is too much for me. Not to mention the tribe outside.

So, in the world of feline abortion, Juno does not have the right to choose. Humans choose for her. It's tough being a cat. But she seems cool with it, if a little hormonally confused. Now she won't starve, trying to feed little ones.

She didn't want to come out of her cage. Safe, private, with a maid to come and clean it every day, twice a day food--she wants back in! Sorry, Juno. This hotel room won't last. I hope you cleaned out the minibar.

And this guy, I couldn't believe all the yelling! Enough already! Pablo, they call him, but they should have called him Pavarotti. They were planning to put him outside the evening of his trip to the clinic, but turns out he was already missing one of his balls. The doctor had to look around inside his abdomen for it. So he had a little more recovery time than expected.

My benefactors let them out in the basement because the traps had to go back to Neighborhood Cats. So they had their last day of recovery living like normal indoor cats. They were friendly enough to handle it, probably not quite feral to begin with. I didn't get to hang out with them--can you believe they kept us separate? Something about spreading disease, or whatever, one of those things people care so much about.

But even Juno ventured away from her cage, disguising herself as a guitar pedal. She got to like the basement a little too much, if you ask me. When they moved her out into the yard, she just sat on the back porch meowing. So that's it? You're done with me now? I thought you loved me!

Yeah, we have a pretty good thing happening in here. I get to sleep in a bed, and play with my sister, and cuddle with the dog. There just isn't enough room for everyone.

Brooklyn in Bloom

I walked through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden's cherry esplanade this afternoon. So on the verge! Tight, dark buds everywhere. They should be bright pink and fluffy by next weekend. The tulips are in bloom; the magnolia just finishing up. I love April. I love Claritin, too.

Our yard is blooming too, in more ways than one. Here, Wilbur sniffs the flowers he has worked so hard to keep fertilized through the winter.




Unfortunately, our formerly-stable feral cat colony has a couple newcomers. Here is one we call Pablo. He sleeps with a hatchet because he has to. The others have been trying to drive him off. He isn't smart around cars, and I fear he is not long for this world. He's starting to warm up to us humans, so hopefully we will be able to help his pee become way less smelly, with a trip to the mobile spay/neuter clinic.




Along with Pablo came Juno, who is camera shy. We know she is female, and fear she is with child. She hasn't had any suitors around, so chances are she is either pregnant or already spayed. Hard to tell--she keeps her distance. She does eat like a horse. If I ever get a photo I will post it, but the priority is to take care of her health first.

Meanwhile, the regulars continue to beg, sniff catnip, and entertain. Here, Rrose hangs out in the garage rafters.




Her brother Marcel hangs on top of the garage door. Both siblings survived the winter well and are chubby and happy. (I believe they have another benefactor on the block.)


And Vince gets philosophical near the flat mouse he has contributed to the yard's decor. (I opted not to post the closeup shot.)


While we're looking at cute animals, here is former porch-rat Ava chilling in front of the TV with Wilbur. Do they love John Adams as much as they appear to? Does it inspire them to be patriotic? Does Ava, like me, have a TV crush on Thomas Jefferson?

Blog Boredumb, I Has It

Sorry folks, I just haven't been able to get my brain in blog mode. Too many waves allocated to other things. Like my novel, Alma, first draft almost done, but I won't jinx it by yapping about it. And my job, which I frankly was able to phone in for awhile, but now I have a new boss, new challenges, and finally feel like I'm not just taking up space. It's pedal-to-metal all day at the office, which feels good, makes the day go fast. I miss that lunch-writing break I used to take in the coffeeshop downstairs, but that will come back, eventually, when the job urgency dies down a little.

Anyhoo, when I click on that Internet Explorer icon at the end of the day, I'm more prone to engage in passive activities. Like looking at videos. Have you discovered the page of Flocke videos? Flocke the insanely cute Eisbar? If you need to restore your faith in the power of cute, check her out. Here's one from Youtube:



She's a vocal creature. I think she will be one fierce bear. And speaking of creatures, have you seen the otters holding hands? It's got the plot of a mindless romcom movie. Be sure to watch to the surprise ending.



I'm tired. This is what I have been reduced to, cute-worship. I even check into I Can Has Cheezburger every day, how sick is that? Here's one of my recent favorites:


Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!

Okay. I'm laughing at puns now. Be worried.

Cat Theater

It's actually a little funnier with the sound off, I learned. Try imagining this alternative script:

Meow.
You already said that.
Meow.
Don't be a moron.
Meow. ..that wasn't very nice.
You're stating the obvious.
You never understand me.
Oh, not this again.
Why can't you just listen?
Oh, please.
I don't know what to say.
Oh, baby, I love you. You know that.
I know. I love you too.


Maybe you have an alternative script to share.

I dreamed last night we had to get our cat Ava a white dress for her coming-out ball. She was such a tomboy about it, and really did not understand the stakes. She had to be prepared for the Catillion!

Fifty Views of the Pacific Northwest, Tin House Workshops, Family, Gardens, Walks, and Critters

I found my missing moleskine, deep in my suitcase with dirty clothes. Yay! and Whew!

I've been keeping a daily journal for a year, using a method I learned in Lynda Barry's Writing the Unthinkable class: every morning, I list ten images from the day before. The theory is that writing about my state of mind is unnecessary--the images will evoke the state of mind. So instead of giving you photographic images of my trip to the Pacific Northwest, I'm gonna do an experiment and share the way I really remember stuff. (And I promise my Sasquatch pics in a later post.)

So here are some highlights from July 4-15, not necessarily verbatim from the journal...I'll omit some names for privacy's sake.

1. Cul de sac with Mount Si looming in the background. Neighbors set off fireworks. Many of them wear matching red white and blue tie dies. Loud rocket shoots up, then bursts into falling parachutes. Kids scramble below to catch the parachutes. Most land on the roof of the family who is out of town. Toddlers cover their ears.

2. Dad shares some of the jokes he uses to warm up the singalong before the Sunday church service. "Why didn't Noah go fishing from the ark? He only had two worms." Bible Study, Dad calls it.

3. My stepmom's gorgeous raspberries. I help her pick them, trying for the higher branches. She makes a salad with raspberries, mango, homegrown spinach, and chicken, arranged in a thoughtful composition on the plate.

4. Walk with Dad to a sphagnum bog. I hear a birdsong I remember from childhood. (Wood Thrush, I later learn. Listen!) A picture is posted to teach visitors about mummies in bogs. Dad talks about sitting in cafes, researching and writing a sermon. I think we are alike in this habit, needing the pen, and books, and solitude.

5. Chipping away at Francine Prose's Reading Like a Writer. I find it hard to change gears and go from one example to the next. Her insights are worth the effort. Makes me want to reread Carver, and find the essays of Woolf.

6. A morning hill walk. Two young does watch me from a nearby berm. I get close enough to see how skinny and hungry they are. Worms venture across the sidewalk under my feet; some don't make it, dehydrate under the July sun.

7. Over dinner, my stepmom tells me about relatives who did subsistence farming during the depression. A kitchen garden, and enough livestock to keep them in eggs and milk. The next day, I watch her water her healthy garden. Weeding is not a big chore for her. She does it automatically, as she passes by, almost a way of greeting her vegetables and flowers. They seem to love her back.

8. Road trip from Snoqualmie to Oregon, just me and Dad. We stop in a country cafe in Centralia for lunch. So many obese people around us, I'm a little afraid to eat the food. I buy a rubber chicken to bring home to the dog.

9. Visit to my mother's sister. She tells us that for good luck, on the first of the month, her first words on waking are "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit," before she gets out of bed over the footboard. I resolve to do this from now on.

10. My aunt takes us to walk a labyrinth of a friend of hers. It's a Chartres design, paved in rough stones, and she and I walk it barefoot. The surprise of turns, it always surprises me, the trip to the center and back is not what it looks like. Soft, Corsican mint in the center, a pillow under our feet. We talk about my mom, how she would have loved this.

11. A Welsh Corgi plays the piano for cookies.

12. I attend my first Unitarian Universalist service. After the sermon, there is a period for commentary and/or rebuttal from the room. One man quotes a philosopher: "I have not told the truth until I have contradicted myself."

13. Dad drops me off at Reed College for the Tin House conference. We bring my bags up to my dorm room, and laugh about how it's like dropping me off for college. We never did this then, so it's a 20-years-delayed experience. My room is a third floor garret with three beds to choose from. He prepares his opera scores to study on his drive home. I wave as he drives away, I feel a pang of goodbye.

14. First class session with Steve Almond. He tries to guess who wrote which story. He nails the first four or so, freaking us out a little.

15. Reading by TC Boyle, with the on-campus lake as a backdrop. Several people have dogs in the amphitheater. One, a Willie lookalike, rests his chin on the seat in front of him to listen. Another, a border collie, barks during the applause. Boyle dons a beret and reads a story about a Beats groupie.

16. Breakfast discussion of the stone critters on top of our dorm. Are they owls? Beavers? That night, a mammal glide-swims in the lake behind Karen Shepard as she reads from her new novel. Afterward, I ask the sound guys if it's a beaver. No, they say, it's a nutria. It must be a nutria on top of the dorm! I can't wait to tell hubby. Nutria! I manage to catch a live one up close, he's swimming in the twilight.

17. People are blushing, disagreeing in workshop. Emotions are high but it feels productive. Almond pushes to the emotional core of the story. People seem to be trying to help without babying the writer. "It's so vivid!" Almond says, but asserts that vivid is not enough. He wants the characters to enter an emotional danger zone. My ears are wide open.

18. Several other conferences are concurrent at Reed. I eat lunch with a skinny young man from another group who has loaded his tray with sandwich, salad, soup, dessert. He gets ranch dressing all over his mouth. I'm fascinated with how he eats, can't concentrate on the homework I am trying to read.

19. I take early morning walks to a cafe in Woodstock, where they have easy chairs. I drink my latte and write in my journal. Nearby, two hipsters collaborate on a crossword. "What kind of cheese is in lasagna?" "Woody or Arlo?" I resist the urge to call out suggestions.

20. I sit in lecture next to a very talented 21-year old. She is holding her own, with people twice her age. We talk about how she researched the setting for her story. I am amazed she did it through books and movies. "I'm so shy," she worries, but I'm not worried for her. "I think we all are," I say, feeling the need for Paxil myself. A room full of writers? It will take a few days to get comfortable.

21. I flirt with some sassy crows on my morning walk. Toss them pieces of apricot. They yell at me as they fly out of my way.

22. Salad bar is exactly the same every day. Carrot and celery sticks, iceberg and spinach, cauliflower, cuke, cherry tomato, cottage cheese, hard boiled egg. Sticking to the diet, but it's monotonous.

23. Steve Almond gives us chocolate in morning workshop. I partake. I have to. He's an expert.

24. I sit in the balcony of the air-conditioned lecture hall for Aimee Bender's talk on show and tell. She leads off with a Lynda Barry cartoon. I feel high, up here, like one of my new crow friends.

25. A classmate is lost in thought at breakfast, spoon resting on her mouth, the morning before she is "up" in workshop. Later, before class, I take a walk with her around the lake and we talk about how she turned her own experiences into her short story.

26. Random guy from another class joins our lunch group and tells us about his sex life. I learn the definition of the Pittsburgh Platter. I feel a little sorry for Pittsburgh.

27. More hard boiled eggs. I'm living on them, now, dipped in Dijon mustard.

28. Lecture. Jim Shepard picks through Raymond Carver's short, "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love," line by line, looking for subtext. It's a precise, planned vivisection. He paces at the front of the hall, doesn't need the mic at all. He wears a blue bowling shirt. I annotate madly.

29. Steve Almond's tee shirt collection impresses us. "Chocolate Boy." "Fictional Character." A picture of the pope smoking pot. He reads, in the amphitheater, a collection of responses to right-wing hate mail. He's at home on the mic. "Condoleeka!"

30. At the participant readings, classmate shares a piece about a gay man having sex with a woman as an experiment, and the surprise of the woman's fragility, the "vestibules" of her body. I can't stop quoting it.

31. I dream a woman is pulling off the roof of our house, without our permission. We are roofless. We put up a blue tarp, like folks in New Orleans, hope it will be sufficient.

32. In the lecture hall, the border collie falls asleep on my feet. She's a service dog, and she enjoys some popularity at the conference. When she "applauds" with us, I realize she has been jolted awake by the clapping, is barking in confusion.

33. Stephen Elliott lectures on using your life as subject matter. He points out that once Jonathan Lethem allowed himself to "cheat" by using concrete memories from his own life, he was able to produce what many view as his masterpiece. Giving oneself permission is the hardest part. Elliott recommends if you write about people in your life, you should make them beautiful. Then you can say anything about them and they will not object.

34. I go into a clog store on Milwaukee and try on $135 mary janes. I love them but not $135 worth. The salesgirl has a shaved head and snake earrings. "You have beautiful stuff," I say as I leave. Then I realize she must have thought I was flirting.

35. Antique store. Bought old Childcraft encylopedias, a blast from my past, for research. Worried about the book-heavy suitcase. Bought some stranger-family photos too. One pic, a rough bunch on a camping trip, dated 1916, with axes, rifles, huckleberry buckets, and a dog. They could be my ancestors. (I will scan and post. This one's a keeper.)

36. Annie Proulx reads a story about the Devil. Later, the sky turns red, and there is lightning. I find shelter with three women and we watch the storm, talk about our writing practice and how we find feedback, systems for making writing groups work, book clubs for writers. I don't crave Paxil any more.

37. Take Friday lunch off campus, at an organic place up the hill. They have dinosaurs on the tables. A baby with a fauxhawk. Then I poke around an Episcopal Thrift Store, my touchstone. Retired ladies, tea sets, tee shirts.

38. I keep walking by an apparent anarchist house in Portland. Dandelions and spent fireworks in the front yard. Tall frankensteined bikes in the back. Very Burning Mannish.

39. Push tables together to eat dinner with my online friends from the Zoe community. We give gifts to one of us who has just gotten married. We pass around coveted advance copies of Charles Baxter's new essay book, The Art of Subtext.

40. Colson Whitehead reads from his new novel, set in 1985, kids in a beach community left to themselves for the summer. He dissects their insults, using a visual aid, building phrases like "fake-Adidas-wearin' motherfucker." He does a full rundown of frozen convenience foods of the era, including Weight Watchers and Stouffers french bread pizza.

41. I'm not "up" in my workshop until the last day, Saturday. I've fainted at these things before so I work on prevention. Some of Steve's chocolate, some water, some quick aerobic exercise in the hall. The discussion is helpful. Almond suggests I take away the "scaffolding" on the story. It hits a nerve, in a good way. I don't faint. I'm grateful.

42. Long talk with a classmate about her novel, about a woman who can communicate with animals. I want to read it.

43. Charles D'Ambrosio's lecture on conflict. He lists signs of conflict-avoidance to look for, like the character who "watches" or "wishes" he/she said something. Suggests when you're painting in a limited palette, sometimes it's good to take a wide, bold brush. It's what I need to hear and I nearly cry as I scramble to write it all down. Later, people talk about the talk's nonlinear chaos, but it felt very linear to me. Maybe this is how I think.

44. The last reading: Abigail Thomas (who I can't wait to read), DA Powell, Charles Baxter. Baxter says "Don't you love the dog?" and competes very well with many distractions--the nutria moving a log behind him in the lake, the pink sunset. He reads from a new novel, in which the protag's young child calls himself "queer."

45. The last night's dance. I take a leap and put on makeup for the first time all week. Hard to do, since we don't have mirrors in the room. I boogie with a new female friend and we admire the dance stylings of Stephen Elliott in his bright orange sleeveless shirt and heart tattoo. He knows how to work it. Several classmates have just been introduced to his work, and are staying up nights reading his new book.

46. Last breakfast, and I get a chance to tickle Josie Almond's fat toes. "Am I invading your personal space?" I ask. "She has no boundaries," her dad says. He plops her on his shoulders and she grabs hold of his hair, then pushes his head aside so she can grin at all the adults at the table.

47. My cousin picks me up, and takes me for a hike, a lake east of Vancouver. Red poison oak in sunny patches. We hear that birdsong again, and she does a good imitation of it. I haven't seen her in years, and she looks just the same. She takes me to her house, and plays piano for me. I swoon over a Mendelssohn piece. She plays with a gentle touch, and lots of feeling for the melody.

48. My cousin gives me a tour of her garden. Perennial flowers, mostly--lilies, monarda, echinacea--and lots of bees. I take pictures. Her cat follows us, but "it has to be the cat's idea." We share notes on cats. A rabbit visits and snacks on the flowers. I tell her about our aunt's "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit" ritual. "We do that too!" she says. Later, her son calls, and she and her husband both run to the phone, eager to hear about his experiences at ski camp.

49. Benadryl. I'm falling asleep before I even get on the redeye flight at PDX. Snooze the whole way to JFK, am surprised at how early the sunlight hits my face.

50. Big barks from Willie, hugs from the guy I've been missing, a shower, and back to the office. Feels weird to be wearing a suit again. 400 emails. I dig in.

How to Stay Adopted, by Guest Blogger Ava Barr

Being in foster care has its challenges. For one, the permanent residents are very possessive with their toys. The canine siblings will whine and growl if you even walk near the tennis ball. And older felines can be grumpy as hell, cornering you under the couch, evicting you from laps and food bowls, strutting around the house like they own the place, even spraying the doors to prove their point: hey you! You're temporary! I'm PERMANENT.

Luckily, I have a mentor here. Angus came in from the scary outdoors too, and he's been giving me pointers on how to make this gig last. The key is, you don't have to be pretty. You just have to be entertaining. Leaping across the room is a good start. Bugs are good targets--nobody owns them. (And if you catch them, you earn not only applause, but a tasty snack too!)

Play your cards right, and you'll earn nicknames, like Tomboy. Or Avis--she tries harder!

And if you strike a certain pose on the bed, and everyone runs into the room with cameras, you'll know you've done the job right.

They won't even stay mad at you for digging a fort in the box spring. You're in. You can crawl under the covers tonight with your foster mom and purr to sleep in her armpit, confident you've gone from temp to perm.

Hey, does this quilt make me look fat?

Woke Up with a Wicked Backache

I swear, I didn't stage this.

One More Reason to Love Dogs

Our dog isn't trained in CPR, or the Heimlich maneuver, but I hope he'd be able to think on his feet like this one.

Go Toby!

More Happenings

Everyone is happening this month...I hope I can get to some of this but day job is interfering. Still, I can shoutout, no?

Tonight Mad Hatter's Review is having their Friday night reading at KGB, featuring Norman Lock, Terese Svoboda, and Deb Olin Unferth. They know how to lasso the talent for these things. For info click the link and scroll down.

Next Wednesday January 31 8PM, Poetry vs. Comedy (PVC) will greet the new year at a new venue, the Bowery Poetry Club. It's a super-fun event, way better than American Idol! Poets alternate with comedians in 8 minute sets, followed by an improvisational showdown to determine the winner. Judges provide commentary, and host Carolyn Castiglia provides jabs and laughs. This month's performers are Brandy Barber, Michelle Buteau, Luke Thayer, Shane Luitjens, Zaedryn Meade, Thad Rutkowski, and Pindeldyboz as musical guest (I've heard they're hilarious.)

Next Thursday, February 1, Virginia Vitzthum's book, I LOVE YOU, LET'S MEET, officially launches! Adam's Books in Park Slope, 8:00PM.

Next Friday, February 2, my troubador friend John Kessel is playing Hank's Saloon (I believe this is Hank's in Brooklyn--dont' know of others). Check out his song, "Thrown Away," on his Myspace page. I love this song.

Probably just the tip of the iceberg.

And because I'm all over the place today, here's a crappy video of our dog Willie taking his medicine. Crappy because the sound got out of sync. I have a lot to learn.

Greetings from the Cute Farm

Sometimes I fear this sweetness will plunge me into a diabetic coma. Here's Angus playing with his new Christmas toy.



And here's a boy's Nap Club struggling to keep eyes open on the sofa.




I don't really have anything better to blog about. I've been writing every day, working on the new novel, ALMA, submitting stories, and applying for this and that residency, etc. I've been really enjoying the research aspect of the novel, looking at books about the theater, also spiritual stuff from AA and the Episcopal church. I'm not a believer in God, but I do find reading about it interesting, and it is proving to be the main theme of my novel, not God, but rather the absence of God, or what happens internally when one loses faith and feels like she is in the minority.

So, back to work I go. Hope you all are enjoying the new year so far. I am!