Those should be my lines.

Self, sometimes it just doesn't matter. I believe this is where I'm supposed to get to the "creative" part. Subjects, verbs and predicates all scrambled together to move the heart, to move the mind, to sate the palate. Something stirring and strange and not about the war.

Hear, hear!

Tomorrow we've arranged to head for San Francisco: Dinner and drinks. Travel light with a single camera and a few rolls of film, an extra battery pack, a strobe perhaps.

Light?

Believe me, that's light.

Emmy is out poking around on the balcony. She's started greeting me at the door when I get home instead of hiding under the bed. She's eating more and throwing up less, although I have to be careful how much I give her at any given time. Still a spoonful in the morning, another spoonful or two after the bath. Two or three portions over the course of the evening. She let's me know if that's enough. She eats the dry food too, drinks the water, likes to be scratched. Sorta like a cat, in other words, than a stuffed owl you keep in the closet.

I haven't shot any photographs of her yet. She's absolutely coal black, which means it's difficult to shoot her when she's under or on the bed. Now she's out and about. Not sure how to handle the exposure, but I guess it's time to find out. Odd, though, to have a new cat for what is now two months and not have a single photograph. I have been in a hole.