Dear Wigleaf,

This is a cat-house. If you know me, you know this—so, Wigleaf, you are about to know me—how exciting! There are three of them. Susanna (aka Minkie/Schmoo), Mr. Cake (aka Gato Von Stuben Kitty/Fuzzy) and Young Goodman Brown (aka Yodi/Yoster/Yoster the Toaster). I have a boyfriend who lives here too, but you wouldn't believe how much cats can enhance a life! Cats keep me from dying: they are vitamins, basically. I could write, "The cats say hello!" but they don't say hello to you, Wigleaf, because they don't give an eff about Wigleaf or anything else writing-related. They never have a hard day of trying to create something brilliant while their brains feel fulla pudding. Also they don't have days when they think everything they write is shit and decide to stop writing forever. Nor do they have delusions where they're certain they've created something amazing, when in reality it's complete shit that nobody will ever consider publishing. Playing string and eating bugs and knocking a glass off the counter and smiling when it smashes all over the floor is like a good day of writing to them. This morning Yodi shit in my pot of droopy cilantro I'd been saving since summer; then he raped Susanna. But they were immediately friends again, no hard feelings, and he never felt any guilt! The moral being, a cat-house is way better than a non-cat-house. Oh, and am I glad to know you, Wigleaf—more soon!


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w i g · l e a F               02-26-12                                [home]