On this slate-colored morning in October, when I should be writing a paper about Marcel Broodthaers, I am instead not.

All the tools of my trade lie before me: (from L to R, back to front) Canon FTb, sad girl songs ipod, the copy of Art in Theory 1900-2000 I cajoled Juniata into buying for me, heavily marked-up copies of various philosophical essays, beeswax chapstick given to me by Molly for my birthday, drawing pencil, my Dear God, Your Book is Great! coffee mug complete with the last dredges of coffee… and yet, I can’t bring myself to work.

So, as a momentary distraction, I am listening to James Brown and writing this cat blog post.

Here are some photos from when Poochcat and I journeyed home to celebrate our dear brother’s birthday last month.

What's up! This is Cally and THAT is my mother's owl carving.

Netty, always desperate for loving, tries to appear unobtrusive, unnoticed...even though this is her bed.

**audible sigh**



I have now exhausted all of my options to avoid writing this paper…expect for….doing the dishes! And making the bed! And re-checking my email! And looking with great sensitivity out the window!

New day.
Neeeeeeew day.


About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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