In Which: the librarian wastes a lot of time making silly movies.

The librarian challenges her siblings to recognize their inner John Travolta:

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

In Which: Fatty Kitty writes a Poem.

Ode to She Who Understands Cats
on the Occasion of Her 256th (in Cat years) Birthday,
with Apologies to Pablo Neruda.
 

The only child

the first miracle of six
who jumped
over barricades
like horses
and twirled,
dreaming,
amid grubby siblings,
of ballet shoes
no less grubby
with effort and
determination.

The faint light on her
upturned eyes
of stars
show through
branches
of a horse chestnut tree
with many faces
while Cats
circle
her ankles.

    

In Which: I become a Useful Item.

I am suddenly in demand. It appears that when the weather is cold enough, I am requested - no, I am begged - to come and sleep next to the librarian. Apparently it's not enough anymore to have a rice bag at the feet, and a hot water bottle in the Arctic regions (what she'd call her rear, but I Know Better. It's positively glacial.)


At any rate, the temperature hovers just below zero, this 1919 house is so charming and inefficient that it hovers ten degrees below the thermostat, and pretty little frost climbs up the charming wood-framed storm windows. And we wish the current Daily Inter-Lake editor's columns were included in the ground-up newspaper that is currently the sole insulation between the walls. Then there would be a lot more hot air in here.


The librarian took this picture to show how the snow slides off our roof faster than any other house on the block - because we have so much more heat escaping is the complaint.


Well, I'm doing my part. Of course, if I were fed more, I could become fatter and therefore a better source of heat. I think a little cream might even be called for. I think I'll pour on a little Fatty Kitty Charm. Excuse me. I must wander into the kitchen and state my case.