Dear Wigleaf,

Writing to you today from the dark side of a Thursday. We have so many plants in the window they've started to block out the sun. The elderly boombox watches me write with his enormous fly-speaker eyes and cassette tape mouth—he sends his love.

My cat grooms himself constantly, but it doesn't help because his mouth stinks. His mouth smells like meat, which is bewildering, since the only things he consumes are tap water, dry cat food, and the occasional house centipede. It can't be the centipedes giving his breath that jerky flavor. I could be wrong.

My cat sleeps like a yogi and farts while he does it. Head curled magnificently under three of his legs, his tail somewhere near the back of his neck, he breathes deeply and farts well.

What else? This winter city is worse this season, due to the unseasonably warm temperatures (30s). Instead of snowing, it rains. The rain freezes and melts again; lucky you to be away for the winter. The fashion set are highly disappointed not to have a chance to show off their new Sorels.

The cold air dries out my sinuses, and every few days I get a nosebleed. The cat and I make a good pair: he licks and stinks, and I sit next to him with Kleenexes up my nose. I wake up and he's drinking my water, leaving a few long hairs on its surface.

Hoping you're well,
E. Ellis




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Read EE's story.

Read Hannah Kauffman's 2½ Questions interview with Ellen.





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