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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Read MM's THREE STORIES.
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