08.31.01 while everyone sleeps

excepting the old man who cornered me in the pharmacy in protest of the sale of ukranian children on the price is right, it has been a mild friday at the spca. no caller, today, demanding that we see to the swarm of bees circling overhead. no muni driver, today, surrendering a live hen that materialized beneath his brake pedal on the 22 fillmore.

in san francisco, male pit bulls are meanie verbs ('krusha', 'ripper', 'mister kill whitey'). females, on the other hand, are pie components ('cinnamon', 'suga', 'peaches'). cats' owners have unidentifiable issues ('car alarm', 'little baby jesus', 'black ass'). my own cats are charles bronson and jude the obscure: joe named bronson, and jude has three legs and no tail. i can't really defend myself.

those guys, my bundles of joy, are straight out of low budget biohorror. chuck went from fetching toys and walking on his hind legs (to reach my hand for a scritch) to depositing my jewelry in the toilet with his teeth and battering down every door in the apartment. when he doesn't fancy a full assault on a room he's denied, he flattens himself so that the light reflected in his eyes makes twin beams, all nazgul-like, on the floor. jude's started out slowly: he drinks my beer when my back is turned and gnaws at my eyebrow bar as i'm falling asleep.

i'm quite proud of them, really.

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