Don't Wake the Lion

Okay, no headache this morning so that's good. Could it be from having a slight cold or something too? I've diagnosed myself twenty different ways through the Internet. I may actually have a rare form of gender identity headache caused by being scratched by one of the feral kitties (watched ER last night for the first time in years and that was one of the side stories. Sort of).

My life-style column article for Philadelphia Maven is out. If you want to read it, go here. It's not earth-shattering and there's a typo at the end that makes me crazy, but oh, well. I'm a columnist, people. Look out. I sent my other piece in this week and I want to work on one for July that's a modern day version of Dorothy Parker's "The Telephone Call." In the new version, she'd be wondering when he's going to email her back or IM or send a text message or respond to her request that they be facebook friends. All the many ways one can now be reached or ignored.

Going to a film festival tonight to be cultured. That's if I can finish this philosophy paper and if this animal headache doesn't roar back to life.

Speaking of animals, Carrie took all four of the kittens to the vet and spent over $300 on them while I stood by, whistling. So, if anyone wants to give a donation to Carrie, she deserves it. She and Padhraig will keep two (Padhraig named one Paul Skohls. I guess that's some rugby/soccer dude). The other two may have home soon. Turns out there were three boys and one girl. The mama kitty keeps coming around crying still. I thought she was supposed to get over that and forget? I have a vet appointment to get her spayed on Thursday, but that will of course be contingent on whether or not I can catch her in this feral cage I don't yet have.