Tin cans and a string

The phone at Our Compartment went dead Sunday morning or Saturday night, we don’t know which. In any case, when I picked up the thing to call Mamie, the only silence in the whole city was on my phone line. Turns out other tenants in the building had their own personal silences or static-laced dial tones, but the guy’s lurking in the basement right now, fixing a few contraptions.

So I have hope that someday I’ll be able to use my landline and quit mortgaging my future with cell phone bills.

In other news, Larry is a small black cat bent on stealing your soul. Larry has feline leukemia and it’s really important to keep his weight up. Cats don’t start out with many pounds of cat-person to begin with, so losing a couple’s a big deal. He went into this weight freefall, then we fed him extra, then he stopped eating. We racked our brains, found ways to feed him medication without freaking him out completely and fed him prissy, expensive cat comestibles. So now he’s plotting our demises again, and we’re sure he’s ready to hatch his scheme.

Paulie’s teaching eggheads to guard their flanks. He’ll be home tonight in time for Iron Chef America, which is great because I enjoy watching men handle knives.

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