For several months now I’ve been contemplating a roadtrip vacation to Wyoming and California. Initially the idea was to meet up with my old chum Heather Cox (the first in a collectible series of Heathers I know) in Wyoming and then we would drive to San Francisco. Lately I’ve been getting the feeling that Californy is the place I oughta be. In the last 4 months, I know three people who’ve moved there. Plus the Bay Area is home to some of my most favorite musicians: Jellyfish, Michael Manring, Joe Satriani, Geoff Tyson, Primus, Faith No More, Invisibl Skratch Piklz, Tower of Power, even Huey Lewis and the News. So I’ve always wanted to see it.
But then Heather said she couldn’t afford it. And then DeLaine said she couldn’t be my co-pilot. And my car, well, I just don’t trust it lately. It’s plotting something. I can feel it.
Since Amy and Heath talk about the various exploits of their cats, I feel it necessary to relate to you that my cats are completely retarded. Billie for whatever reason is unwilling to lap water with her tongue – she digs water out with her paw and laps it from there. She makes a terrific mess at it. Stinkfoot is basically a dog; thoroughly without grace or elegance, he gets so excited when I give him some tuna that he eats too quickly and two times out of five he barfs it back up. I have to pull him away for bit to let the tuna digest. The dork. He’s also endlessly fascinated by shadows and plumbing.
So I have one cat who has a drinking problem and another who’s bulimic. What kind of parent will I ever hope to be?