Inchworm, inchworm,
Measuring the marigolds.
You and your arithmetic,
Will probably go far.

Inchworm, inchworm,
Measuring the marigolds.
Seems to me you'd stop and see
How beautiful they are.

Two and two are four.
Four and four are eight.
Eight and eight are sixteen.
Sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two.

I'm at a Starbucks in Queens, where the baristas know the boys. The boys are home with their nanny. I'm trying to get the exhibition version of CREDO into shape in time for the West Chester Film Festival's deadline, which is Thursday. La Diva is at the vet with Grover, who weighs half what he did a year ago. This morning the scale said our 11-pound scrapper is 6 pounds. He's a skeleton in a skin bag, and I wish I'd been nicer to him over the last 8 months.

The vet said he's severely dehydrated, which could be a result of the kidney problems we already knew about.

Grover will stay overnight with an IV. The most excellent of cats is 17 years old.

I'll get the exhibition DVD done in time, one way or another. I'm already going one day without pay to get it done; I predict at least another day.

My babies will be happy to see me come home. I'll be even happier to see them than I was yesterday, though that hardly seems possible.

If I can work it so the expense doesn't kill me, Butchie and I will be hanging out in the lobby at Bouchercon. Listen for something that sounds like a giggling nuclear meltdown alarm; that'll be us.

Paul Guyot quipped recently that time's too precious to be kept on a cheap watch; but I think time's far too precious to be kept at all.

Seems to me we'd stop and see how beautiful we are.

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