By the way, my novel (which I've been working on sporadically for at least 4 or 5 years now) is over halfway written, and 11 months is plenty of time to crank out the last 30-35k words, organize the thing into something readable, edit it, send it to some of my writer-friends, read their comments, and edit it. That's the easy part. Finding an agent and publishing the thing... well, that's another matter.
Evidently, Pandora thinks Sunday morning is the perfect time for a goth metal marathon.
I was lying in bed earlier, and Bouncer was by the stairs, making these short, weird-sounding meows. I called for her, and she eventually came in, carrying this rolled-up empty plastic food pouch in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor by my bed and gave me a quizzical look. I think it was from some Indian food I had the other night, and I had to laugh. I think the spiciness caught her off-guard.
