Friday Cat Blogging: Don't Mess Around With Slim

Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul, likes nothing better than to find me tapping away at the keyboard. This means I have to stay put, at least temporarily. He leaps. He stands on my lap. I type around the pussycat while he bumps my hands. Half the typos in Poor Impulse Control are cat-related accidents I failed to notice during proofreading. I don't mind them. Nobody becomes a decent artist alone, we know. One must learn to accept criticism.



In this picture, Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul, offers a withering critique of my decorating skills. My weights are extraneous to his happiness. You're so selfish, he seems to say, On that spot, you could put a heating pad, kippered herring or a six-pack of pink mousies.

Perhaps he has a point. If you have use for some of the heavier weights, write me. I don't need them anymore. If no one wants the weights, I'll give them to a school or a Y with a free weights room. Best to release these creatures back into the wild.