The photo on the left is bastardized from a picture Jane took the other night at the Women's Building; thank you Jane!!! for ummmm letting me steal it! Woo me. I know that three links and two pictures related to Matt Gonzalez's mayoral campaign are probably [calculating] four too many, but like there is only a week left and it's more better to click onto his site or the political bloggers [pointing up there to the bloggers for Matt link] then to read me say something like: ohmytotalgod if you're undecided and live here and are registered to vote VOTE FOR MATT GONZALEZ! Because he's right about everything! No, I refuse to go into detail, just take my word okay thanks!

Yeah, so you had to read it anyway. We all cry for you.

Last night I was settling down for a nice sleep at approximately 3 a.m. (I spent about an hour with the go brush your teeth no sink so faaarrrr go brush your teeth but sink is so faaaar) and my window was open a crack for a little air, it gets stuffy in this box, and my cat was staring intently out as she always does so I turn off the light and hear this epic battle with the window, it's being pushed up, falling back down, being pushed up, falling back down, and then the cat shoots across the bed with something in her mouth.

Ohhhhh no, I think, mouse mouse mouse mouse mouse. The light is off, I put on my glasses anyway, and listen to the cat jumping here, there, everywhere, thinking don't bring the mouse on the bed please don't bring the mouse on the bed and they played for hours, they played Monopoly and Stratego and maybe even Go Fish and I fell asleep around five, unable to keep my eyes open any longer.

I don't know how anyone could deal with the head of a horse staring at them from their very own bed in the morning. I really hope it never happens to me. I thought that when I woke up. Really, a dead mouse, it doesn't compare to the horse's head. Come on, I told myself. Just look around a little, make sure it's not next to you on the pillow. Dead and next to me, is this worse than it running around, a startling brown flash caught from the corner of my eye? Dunno.

Maybe it's dead or alive in my sneaker. So many places.

I find the mouse on the floor at the foot of the bed, desiccated, on its side, all four little legs straight and stiff. Such long claws. Who knew. A bit of blood around the neck. Definitely dead. I would say so. I would say that mouse is dead.

I look around; who the hell's gonna pick it up? Well, that would be me.

My cat's killed her playdates before. This isn't the first time. It's what she does, what she loves, she's a cat. But I hate the sound, the tiny mouse screams, I hate being an accomplice. Even now I can hear you: why didn't you save it? How could you be such an ANIMAL?

Please. It was 4ish in the dingdong morning. How do I do a catch and release? And where do I put it, maybe in my neighbor's place? Back out the window? How the . . . I mean, was it just hanging out on the side of the building, claws in brick? Is there a nest there, just outside the window? Do you think I'm going to look? Oh hell no. Right now closing the window works for me.

It's been years since she's killed a mouse near me. I used to think hey, I love my furry stalker. (I mean the cat.) It's part of living with an animal. If she were bigger or I was smaller, that would be me she was batting around, and I was okay with that. When I moved into this apartment six years ago I was glad the killing would end, but I felt bad that she would miss out on it. I thought about getting mice for her, I would maybe buy them at the pet store and release them in the apartment. Give them a head start, then let her go on and do her thing. I never did it, mostly because I thought setting a bunch of rodents free in a large rental building might not be cool with the management. This was all before therapy. I feel differently now. Last night was shocking, I feel shocked. I blame these new feelings on sandplay.

Okay now is the time when you recheck the name of the blog. See? It's okay for me to pontificate as if I were a sixth grader having her third deep thought. So pthththt.

I thought of a new word the other day, tell me if it works. It combines bitch and twat, and it's twitch. Like, for instance, Gavin Newsom is such a twitch. See? Is it as good as chillaxing? Hmmmmm.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

I know twitch is already a word, but an alternate meaning could work, depending on who's on board, depending on who I can get on the horn. Hey KD, get Andre Benjamin on the blower. Ask him what he thinks.

(Please note that I didn't invent chillaxing, I merely picked it up on the bus.)

STAT.

Tell me what stat stands for. Now tell me, is OK an acronym? If so, for what? If it isn't, why the fuck is it capitalized instead of being spelled okay (which is my preferred usage)?

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.

Okay, now I'm over twitch.

Pretend you never read that.

My friend told me that he knows these cats, right, and they get mice from the field and bring them inside the house and drop them in the toilet and watch them swim around, and then when they're tired of that they lift them out of the toilet and chase them around the house, then drop them in the toilet again and watch them swim around. I was all, well MY cat would never do that. My cat is civilized. I don't know who lets these cats drop mice in the toilet just to watch them swim. I think that's sick and I'm taking a stand against cats who do that. There oughta be a law.

I think I'll go to bed. It's kinda early. My contacts hurt. I hope you're not sick.