Hello, the old mind is numb with big birthday jitters. That doesn't even make sense. Sorry, I have absolutely nothing to offer these days. Except I have a cat who eats dog food and a dog who eats cat food.

And, these days, my constant comment to Robby is, May I ask what you are doing? Like just now when he did the following. Well, I had moved a file box from a nook in the laundry room so I could put the kitty litter pan there and get it out of the bathroom where we were crunching around on stray litter, which is not jolly. So, the filing box had a recipe box sitting atop it. Robby hopped up onto the little recipe box and from there, OH GLORY!, he found he could spring to the counter, which he has never been on yet. The counter is like a mini garage. It has all sorts of things piled high, you can't actually see the counter. Boxes, shopping bags, packing bubbles, stuff waiting to go to Goodwill and miscellaneous stuff that I have no clue what to do with -- all ADAP (As Disorganized As Possible). Great kitty fodder. Or whatever I mean. So there he was, prowling about, finding nooks and crooks, no telling what trouble is next, like knocking junk to the floor and scaring himself half silly. Therefore the question is posed to Robby, And what, may I ask, are you doing?

Oh, and the amazing hamster story I want to tell you, well, that poor little hamster was laid to rest today. VERY sad. But I'll still tell the story some day.

The other night I heard a snarl of some kind. So I hopped out of bed and there was Robby, curled up next to Jazzi in Jazzi's bed at the top of the stairs. Jazzi was looking like she'd scooted away as best she could, she looked tight, like, What is this foreign unwanted object in my bed? Like Robby had the cooties.

And also last week, I heard skirmishing outside of the house. We have a neighbor who is prone to outbursts, so I thought maybe he was the source. But then the scuffling and yelling intensified, and I looked out the bedroom window down below to the alley and there were four young men (hoodlums) taking off their shirts and going at it, well, two of them had their dukes up. I had to call 911. Boy, I wouldn't do well in a war zone. But sometimes I feel I live in one. Time to move. Although I will say the capacity of the human nervous system is nothing short of amazing. For instance, I was reading about those 33 miners trapped in a mine in Chile, WAAAAY below the surface. I read where they will be rescued four months from now, once a 27" tunnel is drilled.

NO THANK, YOU. KEM would have to perish in the depths of the mine. NO WAY would she be drawn up over 250 feet in a teensy confining cylinder-like opening. It's like an MRI. Or the sewer cleaners, scrunching along a sewer pipe with absolutely no free space, no wiggle room. One such man said, It's just a job. JUST A JOB?? Are you KIDDING me?? I am a textbook claustrophobic. I positively LOSE MY MIND when I'm tightly confined and can't get out it I wanted to. Which I would want to in the worst way.

Okay, that's my drift. Give me wide open spaces and please don't box me in, boxes, in my mind, are for coffins. You know, I think I've blogged on this before. This is where a year of blogs takes you...to a lost track.

Okay, gotta go, Robby has the scotch tape dispenser stuck on his hind paw. He was kitten in a bowl again. And when he woke up, apparently he explored the scotch tape. I heard a strange noise. My life might be trying, but it ain't boring.

KEM