Later in the afternoon. Now it's a woman singing scales. I wonder if she knows the banjo player? I've decided I rather like having a banjo player and an opera singer living in back as their sound just floats in nice and polite and not very loud. They're neighbors, but a good three neighbors distant. Everyone else is so quiet and polite, their back balconies so carefully planted and trimmed. Makes me nervous. I inherited five potted plants from the former tenant when I moved in, four of them as dead as dead gets and one filthy little creeper all yellow, dried up and dying. Plus my house warming catnip plant from MSW, of course. I've been watering the yellow creeper and it's better. The catnip is considering its new life here in Oakland and although some of the leaves at the center have turned yellow, it looks OK. I think. I'm feeding it little seed like things MSW calls "plant steroids". I keep it balanced on the railing overlooking my downstairs neighbors. One good puff of wind and it's going to need all the steroids it can get. Mr. Wuss does not appear to be aware of its existence.

I can feel winter coming. This place has a half comfortable hole up for the winter feeling, the computer hooked to the Internet, the fireplace in the corner, the books up on their shelves, the recuperating cat sleeping on his chair, twitching and dreaming.