WARNING - CONTAINS GRATUITOUS CAT STORY

We have been having work done on the house for the last few months (it all started with patching a few nail pops). The guy who has been the general contractor for us on all the work (you can discern the magnitude of the work by the need for a general contractor) has become our Eldon (obscure reference to the Murphy Brown TV show). On Friday he fixed the weatherstripping on the bottom of the door that leads into the garage. That change caused the door to not latch properly, unless you close it *just so*.

None of us realized this until we were all out on Friday evening and came home to an open garage door and the door into the house swinging in the breeze. My first thought was not "Someone undesirable could have gotten into the house and stolen our 17 phones, none of which I can ever locate when the phone is ringing," but rather "THE ANIMALS!!". I had visions of the cats having been turned into roadkill or dog food, and of the dog wandering in an arthritic, deaf haze. When we searched the house only one cat - Hercules, the most timid, most likely to hide under the furthest corner of the bed when someone comes to visit cat - was missing. I did a cursory search but had to go fetch Caitlin before I could get very far. She was extremely upset, far preferring the cats to the dog, and went on a hunt for the black cat on that dark and stormy night. I gave Michael Moore a better chance of being invited to speak at a Bush campaign rally than of her finding the cat.

Within minutes she was yelling that she had located him, but that he had run away when she approached him. After several laps around the house he finally raced into the garage and yowled at the door to get in, as if we had forced him to spend time outside. He hyperventilated for a while (the result of the chase), but was back to normal by morning. He hasn't ventured near a door again since then.

Ponchos: a fashion travesty in the 60s and 70s, an even more egregious error now because WE KNOW BETTER. We know how hideous they looked then, how dumpy and frumpy and just plain ass stupid. If I was in a confessional mood I would explain that the one I made in 6th grade (complete with fringe! and a matching skirt!) for a fashion show the Girl Scouts were holding was forced on me by my mother (who ended up doing most of the sewing, since I was incapable of matching the plaid on the depressingly drab wool fabric we bought). But I am not in such a mood.