IT GETS COMPLICATED

During the middle of the afternoon, I went to purchase a stuffed animal for my apartment mate's birthday, seeing as she's suddenly turning a year older this weekend. I've done this several years running. With luck, the animal turns into a cherished roommate, secure in the hierarchy of rowdy anarachists living in our apartment. Where the others will nurture it's personality as it develops, as well as any gender identification it may insist upon.

The octopus, for instance, is considerate and caring of the turkey vulture, with no strings attached. The spider and the she-sheep have a thing going. The small purplish gorilla is deeply resentful of the rabbit being the boyfriend of the senior roomie Ms. Bruin.

Key desiderata: must have character and intelligence. No wussy little poofballs.

My eye fell on two fierce meat eaters.
One of whom is reptilian.
One, avian.

THEIR NATURAL HABITAT

The woman who relinquished them at the bestial adoption agency believes that I am a grandpa with a granddaughter. It has been easier than explaining the actual facts in this case, and she takes pleasure in my gifting the wee tyke stuffed animals for Christmas. This year the imaginary grandchild is eight years old, and I'll be doing Christmas with my imaginary offspring and their equally non-existent spouse.

I'm hoping that next year she doesn't ask too many questions. It's hard keeping the backstory of my fantasy family straight. I cannot remember what I told her last year or before that.

I am very fond of my imaginary granddaughter.
She's a good kid. Lots of imagination.



Afterwards I had lunch, then loaded and lit a pipe. A merchant complimented me on the smell of my tobacco, so I must make sure to remember that his awning is a possible sanctuary during the downpours this winter.

It's near the place where last winter I'd occasionally see Russ, before he got pneumonia and was out of commission for three months.

Which is also a good shelter when it rains.
Good for people watching.



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