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2002-12-05 - 10:52 p.m.

As much as Matt drives me crazy sometimes, I know he knows me really well, and loves me for it.

Today, as we were leaving work, he said to me, "Now, what is it you're supposed to do when you get home?"

"Go in the computer room?" I guessed.

"Right, but what are you supposed to do in there?"

"Umm..."I thought for a moment. "Clean it?"

"No, you're supposed to look for drivers ed paperwork. Though, if you want to clean it..."

"Maybe," I said. "But I will look for paperwork."

"Looking for paperwork does not mean finding old poems and reading them all night," Matt said.

I stopped in my tracks, and opened my mouth to deny it, then closed my mouth and giggled. That's exactly what happens whenever I "look for paperwork."


Virgil has this little stuffed dog. It has special "time release" catnip in it that is supposed to last up to 4 months. Virgil likes the dog well enough, but isn't REALLY excited about it. So I tied a strand of mardi gras beads around its neck. This invention is like kitty crack. He will play with it ALL day. At night, we hear the skitter of mardi gras beads on the hardwood floor, and the THUMP as Virgil attacks the toy he just batted down the hallway.

Then, the unthinkable happens. The dog gets lost. We have NO idea where it is. We find his two little tennis balls with bells in them, and the three fluffy, dusty, hairy balls Virgil loves to play fetch with - but no dog.

Finally, Matt and I decide to search the apartment. We look under and behind EVERYTHING. I say, "We should get him another one." Matt says, "You know what will happen then. We'll find it. I'm going to look some more."

A decision is reached. The dog has DISAPPEARED. Matt goes to PetCo to pick up catfood, and surrenders. He picks up another dog, and brings it home on Tuesday night. Virgil likes it, but isn't as thrilled. I debate whether or not to tie mardi gras beads onit...decide against it.

Fast forward two days. I'm rummaging around in the computer room, sorting yarn, downloading mp3s, stuff like that. Virgil comes in to keep me company. He weaves through my piles of crap, and starts batting at something underneath my plastic drawers full of art crap. I hear the skittering of beads before I see it...

"I don't fucking believe it."

Virgil slowly pulls his dog out from under the drawers.

I can't fucking believe it.

I love that cat.


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