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The old man is snoring 0

Dear B,

            Cats are nocturnal. Did you know that, Shaw? If not, now you do. I guess somewhere in the back of my brain I knew it when I got Jimi but the fact didn’t feel real until recently.

            There was an epoch, ages ago, when I would fall asleep, have a series of vivid, sometimes lucid dreams, and then wake up ready for the new day. Now, however, I wake up every half hour, wanting to fall back to sleep but it’s impossible because Jimi is on my chest or scaling the radiator or pawing my head or playing with one of her plastic balls that have a little bell inside. (I bought those bastards.)

            It’s raining now and that’s not such a problem because I don’t work today. Imagine that = me not working. Instead, I’m sitting here on my tuchus, drinking wine and writing you. How’s that for good fortune? This is the life, Shaw. This is it. Not headlining Broadway, running the government, making loads of dough or falling in love with a looker. This, my friend, this, this, this, this, this, this, this. Get it? This is it happening right now.

            Yes, it’s raining, it’s pouring, and the old man is snoring but I’m inside, well wined, and writing to the trickling of time.

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