Bullets

• Taylor is home from the vet. When they brought me to her in her carrier, I could hear a low, vicious growl emanating from the carrier. I imagined the vet techs in the back breaking out a bottle of sparkling apple juice.
• Taylor is not a happy camper, but that's not exactly a surprise.
• She is terrorizing the other cats. All she has to do is look at them.
• No movie last night. I stopped at the German bakers and got a Tres Leches pastele. Hello, dinner.
• I am no longer a Speechifier. I wrote a quick email to the Prince Consort, currently El Presidente. Won't be at tonight's meeting...know I owe dues...not doing my job as an ossifer...TTFN.
• El Presidente called me at six o'clock in the morning. One benefit of having no family: When the phone rings at a weird time, you know it's not because someone you love has died. It can only be a wrong number.
• El Presidente jumped right to the point and said something like, sorry you're leaving and don't let the screen door hit your ass on the way out. Uh...okay then.
• I looked at Taylor's records and realized that she is 12 years old. And Boris is 15. Yikes.
• I am grateful to have a job. But I am depressed, despite taking my meds as ordered, and it is messing with my head.