Green Light, Green Light

Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul, is leaving a trail of blood droplets wherever he rests his head. The vet doesn't seem to be alarmed, but I am. I'm worried about my small, bossy friend. Our problems with his teeth and the feline leukemia may be coming to a head. He's lurking behind the futon and seems intent on staying there.

In fact, I have the worst feeling something terrible is going to happen.

The discount department store offered me a slightly less temporary version of the part-time job, this time in the children's department. I'm not sure my ancient, arthritic joints will permit it. Plus, when you fold and refold clothes for six hours, you're covered with a wide variety of itchy fibers, and you're a forensic technician's nightmare scenario. Note to Enemies: if you kill me on my way home from the job, chances are CSIs will overlook you as a suspect in favor of a gang of reasonably well-dressed, surly toddlers.

Today, I got to see one of my poems translated into Italian and published. The journal is beautiful to my eye. The experience is strange. It's like someone else picked my shoes, or as if my Self was rearranged for a new public. Buon giorno to you, too.