Which way did you come in?

Or, as it turns out, the injuries weren’t permanent after all. Doctors performed the first face transplant on the unfortunate woman. That’s good news for a couple of reasons. First, the miserable French woman will have the opportunity to resume a healthy life, i.e., one without a vicious mongrel in her house. Also, it’s good news if face transplants are practical; I could certainly use one.

When I got back to my studio, I examined my find and discovered that it wasn’t a marijuana pipe. Instead, the device appeared to be a delivery device for crack cocaine. Or, in lay terms, a crack pipe.

I don’t use crack cocaine, and my friends don’t either even though they may occasionally act like they do. And so, what shall I do with a perfectly functional crack pipe? I suppose I’ll treat it like an old computer or some other unneeded technology. If I put it on the street with a sign that says “free” taped to it, someone will take it within an hour.

Good riddance.

When I asked Carrie if she’d read a good book recently, she replied, “my grandmother’s face.”

I must rethink my approach to books.

I’m not sure whether or not Sheeler was prescient. On one hand, his remark remains true forty years after his death. On the other hand, it’s been well over a century since photography has improved at all.

I figured wrong.

It’s not that hard. Four of the cats—Feta, Phil, Screetch, and Walter—died some time ago; I only need to dust their compact, pine boxes once before Cindy returns. And the outside kitties generally take care of themselves.

The inside girls—Bob and Odie—are another story. I suspect they spent the seventh or eighth of their nine lives some time ago; they move very slowly when they move at all. They’re both fine felines, but they both have rather bad aim whilst urinating and/or defecating. The girls seem to think that any real estate within eyesight of their assigned cat box is a perfectly fine place to relieve themselves.

I’m not complaining; the kitties are otherwise fine company. And as for cleaning up their stinky little messes, it’s almost no work at all after quaffing the vodka I found buried in Cindy’s freezer.

I told her I liked her ideas, and suggested that we head out. And that’s when she explained that none of her plans involved me.

As I told her, that was fine. It turns out that I needed to do my laundry today, anyway.