When the Moon Barks *Back*

At 7:20 this morning I decided the Moon must be full. I think it was the school bus turning left across two lanes of roaring mad traffic on grimy Route 27 that did it - not that the children waiting to get on the bus would've cared unless the bus flipped and burst into flames. Kids care about history's highlights. "My day boils down to a fireball that cancelled school," is the kind of summary that convinces me TV reporters have Peter Pan complexes.

Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul, did not want me to leave the apartment this morning. He wanted to stand on me. While I brush my teeth, he stands on the toilet lid and demands to be scratched, but a half-hearted head-scratching won't cut the mustard. The moment my attention drifts, Larry attacks. The next time you wish to demonstrate extraordinary dexterity, try this: brush your teeth mindful of expensive orthodontic work, scratch a pushy pet, avoid feline fangs. There ought to be a medal for an entire week without bitemarks.