Category: music

Saturda’s Theme Music

Sunshine was trying to coax me out of bed. The cat’s complaints were urging me to move faster. “Let me do some things and then I’ll feed you,” I told the cat. He went with me into the bathroom to supervise proceedings. It’s Saturda, April 5, 2025, a day of progressive action in the United States. My wife is jaded about it. “It won’t do much in this area. They’ll give it twenty seconds on the news and then talk for a couple minutes about a new restaurant opening.”

Warm weather for it. 49 F now, thin wedding-veil clouds coyly secret most of the sun’s issue away. But promises have been put forward. Today will be mostly sunny, high in the upper 60s. May even kiss seventy.

“We need to take advantage of this weather,” I say. For those who need a translator, that means I will wash the cars, cut grass, weed, etc. After the warming weather and copious rain, it’s needed. “Supposed to be warm but start raining again tomorrow. Temperatures are going to drop on Monday.” I sound like an expert but I’m just repeating what I read.

My wife replies, “I ordered a new rug for the foyer yesterday.”

I nod. “I know.” We’d measured the space together. The old foyer rug has populated our existence since 1985. It’s served us well. Like us, it’s aged. Its vibrant green and pristine design has faded. Its edges have frayed. Once it was in perfect condition. Chic. Then it was shabby chic. Now it’s just getting shabby.

I relate. I’m grateful that it’s a weekend. Less news comes out on the weekend. But the bridal-veil clouds have thickened. Sunshine has waned.

The cat wants out. I tell him to be safe as I let him into the backyard. Like a child, the orange boy snaps back, “Meow.”

“I know,” I reply, “but I’ve seen you out there. Be careful. Don’t let anything get you.”

He, of course, is very happy with the warm, windless weather. Struting out flying his orange striped cream tail high, he inspires The Neurons with music.

“Stray Cat Strug” by the Stray Cats begins playing in the morning mental music stream. The song stays alive as coffee and breakfast are procured and consumed, etc. I’ve no choice but to post it and chase it from my head.

The cat’s sunshine has faded. He looks forlorn. I know that feeling.

Hope your day works out for you. I’ll do my best and might half succeed. Depends upon how much coffee I drink, I think. And the weather. Cheers

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Frieda’s Theme Music

Sunshine broke on through, just as the doors urged. Frieda, April 4, 2025 is a windy, sunny, warm spring day. High and thin clouds scrub some blue sheen of the sky. It’s 52 F and heading to the high sixties.

Papi the ginger blade was so happy. At first. Prancing into a sunshine pool, he washed and lounged. Then, wind ruffled his fur and pushed his ears around. The little Butter Butt pressed to come in, pronto.

A shopping day is planned. Our household subjects have veered between Trump’s impact on our personal finances and situation to buying a bidet attachment or something. “Should we get an attachment or a seat?” my wife asks. She’s rethinking herself.

“I’ll research and report back,” I reply.

“I’m not even going to look at my 401K,” she says. She means that. I will discreetly check it for her. Keep the results to myself. Mine has lost about twelve percent of its value. My other stock holdings have dropped ten percent. It’s early, though. I consider divesting all.

Today’s strong jobs report surprised me. But, then again, no. I’ve read of substantial business closings. Layoffs and terminations. Food traffic down in stores. Sales down. I’ve not read of any companies gushing, “Look, we’re hiring! Woo hoo!” Trump’s administration puts out those jobs numbers. He’s a known liar. So are the lackeys populating his regime. I’m sure they looked at the first set of numbers and told one another, “Oh, no, we can’t publish those. He’ll fire us all.” So they doctored the jobs number to look good.

PINO Trump tweeted about it this morning. Sorry, he X’d about it. “GREAT JOB NUMBERS, FAR BETTER THAN EXPECTED. IT’S ALREADY WORKING.”

What does he think is already working? Farmers are being hit, Federal workers have been shelved, tourism has dropped and is expected to drop more. The stock market keeps dropping…well, if you’re not in the Trumphosphere, you know. Projections are not rosy. First quarter reports are going to be interesting.

A friend added comments yesterday to one of my posts. They linked to a Jimi Hendrix song, “Still Raining, Still Dreaming”. Hearing that provoked The Neurons to begin different Jimi Hendrix Experience songs in my head. I ended up with “Stone Free” in the morning mental music stream. The song coincides with my urge to take a trip, see the coast. I’ve been working on my wife for such a trip. Her stars aren’t yet aligned enough. That doesn’t stop me from joining Hendrix to sing, “I got to, got to, got to get away right now.” But I’ll hold on for my other to be ready.

Difficult to find a good video of “Stone Free”. I went with this one, despite its sound glitches. I enjoy the members playing and seeing Hendrix’s fast, meticulous playing.

Coffee has made its morning visit to my body. I’m rockin’ and arollin’. Hope you have an awesome experience today, wherever you are. Cheers

2

Thirstda’s Theme Music

Thirstda, April 3, 2025, is here. The day arrived in a morose mood, dangling thick gray cloud strands over the mountains, covering the sun’s influence, and acting like it planned to dump us in moisture. Then some mystical order was given. Cosmic stagehands raced out. Clouds were shoved to the scene’s edges. Blue sky lit up. Sunshine burns down with a new hope. It was 36 F. Now we’re touching 45 F. But, hey: it feels warmer.

I stepped into the bathroom. Doing bathroomy stuff, my foot landed on something hard and mildly sharp. This was an attachment to an electric razor. One I had to trim my beard and mustache. I always have a mustache. My first mustache was noticed on me when I was fourteen. Mom told me that my face was dirty and to go wash it. “There’s something above your lip.”

My older sister laughed. “That’s his mustache.”

The beard comes and goes. A goatee is almost permanent. I’ve had it since I left the military in 1995. But the electric razor that piece attached to has been gone for over a decade. Turning it over, I pushed to understand how it came to be on the bathroom floor today. Unable to come up with anything except The Borrowers and aliens, I tossed the piece into the trash. It’s another page in my Book of Life Mysteries. I think we all keep one of those record books, don’t we?

Three songs were competing in the morning mental music stream. I introduced the first one. This was “Valley Girl” by Frank and Moon Zappa. This song capture the California valley girl subculture, and their unique verbiage. ‘Valleyspeak’ swept the nation. Too many people walked around, smirking, telling me, “Gag me with a spoon.” Variations of that phrase quickly emerged.

I was singing my variant of the song to Papi. Papi is my housefloof, feline by looks and attitude. The boy loves treats such as Churri squeeze tube pastes. My wife rechristened it chumley. Chumley is how we refer to any of those treats.

Today I sang to Papi, “Chumley cat, he’s a chumley cat. Oh my my, fer sure fer sure, he’s a chumley cat and there is no cure.”

Second up was Elvis Presley with “Blue Suede Shoes.” Carl Perkins did it first, after writing in in 1955 and releasing it in 1956, the year of my birth. The Neurons delivered this one to the mental music stream. They didn’t explain why. I was in the bathroom doing bathroom stuff when it arrived. I used to perform this song for my family when I was four or five. Hip swiveling and singing the chorus. No, video and photographic evidence doesn’t exist. I remember doing it and Mom verified it.

Third up is “Don’t Bring Me Down” by the Animals. I’m feeling absurdly young kitten energetic and happy. I don’t know why. You’d think that with Trumpzilla burning down the world economy with his outlandish tariffs, I’d be more depressed. My stocks are down. 401 K and IRA worth down. Prices are up and will go higher. But here I am, happy as the mythical lark. Sensing that mood, The Neurons introduced the 1966 song into the morning mental music stream. This is today’s theme music.

Hope you’re experiencing some of what I’m getting and your day doesn’t bring you down. Do the best you can, right? Cheers

6

Wenzda’s Theme Music

Ah, sunshine. Yesterday had the sunshine working around us in a revolving door. The changes were stark. One minute, sunshine is blazing in the windows and we’re raising the blinds to cut it. Literally the next minute found my wife asking, “What happened to the sun? It’s dark in here. Turn on the light.”

She looked out. “It’s pouring outside.”

Sitting with her book with the light on, we’re suddenly engulfed by bright light again. We both rise to look out the window. I shield my eyes. “It’s sunny again.” I lower a blind. “How long will this last?”

About three minutes, as it turned out.

That’s spring in Ashland. Probably similar in many other locales.

Today is Wenzda, April 2, 2025. It’s 38 F and sunshine is splashing off the solidly wet world. The cat feels things have regressed. Instead of trying to leave again, he’s positioned himself for a groom and nap. “Can’t trust that weather out there, can you?” I ask him.

He pauses in a mid-leg lick to swivel his ears and give me a gaze. His expression is like he’s trying to conjure the right words. “Cat got your tongue?” I ask.

That drives him back to washing.

My wife and I applauded the Wisconsin Supreme Court results last night. We also applauded Senator Booker’s record-setting filibuster. We want stronger action and are dubious about the senator’s effort and its impact. It probably flew past most people’s attention, we feel. But it may buoy a few people. Every little bit might help trigger a bigger movement and greater awareness.

Stevie Wonder is playing in the morning mental music stream. Wonder’s cover of “Yester-Me, Yester-You, Yesterday” came out in 1969. It’s catalogued in the childhood section of my mind. I don’t think I’ve heard it in a while. Even with a few swallows of coffee to encourage them, The Neurons aren’t elaborating about their choice. From the one dream remembered from last night, I don’t think it’s from that. Other Neurons suggest that it could just be association from thinking about the weather yesterday. Could be, I agree. Could also be a function of news and politics. The song does address what happened to all we had yesterday and how it’s change.

What happened to the world we knew?
When we would dream and scheme
And while the time away?
Yester-me, yester-you, yesterday
Mm, yeah

[Verse 2]
Where did it go (Where did it go?), that yester-glow?
When we could feel
The wheel of life turn our way
Yester-me. yester-you, yesterday

[Bridge]
I had a dream. so did you
Life was warm and love was true
Two kids who followed all the rules
Yester-fools, and now

h/t to Genius.com

The coffee seems to be working. Heading off to get things done. Hope your day gives you a chance to feel happy, satisfied, and eager to do more. Cheers

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Twosda’s Theme Music

Not a good night of sleep to end March of 2025 for me. Twosda, April 1, 2025, has begun with overnight lows in the bottom of the 30s F. 38 F now. Highs will hit the 40s. Squirmy grey clouds shoulder down onto the mountains and separate into misty tendrils. Rain falls. Blue sky is off limits. A skittish sun reassures us it’s daytime.

Papi disliked the rain. He was in and out a billion and seven times between 6 and 8 AM. Fed up by the stale routine, I lectured him. “You’re the cat who cried in and out too many times. If you go out this time, you’re staying out there.” He was mute in response but went out. Thereafte, he beat to come in every ten minutes. I finally let him in after an hour. He reproached me with a look. Nothing has been learned here.

Dreams then contributed to my sluggish state. I had a dream in three parts. The cat kept disrupting it but I kept returning to it. Now I’m on my cup of coffee, looking to it to prompt more blood flow through me.

“We could get a tushy,” my wife says. “It’s very popular.”

She’s referring to a bidet seat. She’s been off and on about this for six months. First on. She wanted one with warm water. Than off because we don’t have an electric outlet by the toilet. I suggested having one installed. She thought about that for a few weeks and then turned that down.

“Do you want a cold water one then?” I asked. That was the natural follow up.

“Let me think about it.”

So she’s back on it today. “We need to measure the toilet,” I tell her. “To ensure it fits.”

“It fits ninety percent of all toilets,” she says.

I’ve heard that before. “We need to measure and confirm it fits our toilet seat’s shape and size. What’s a skirted toilet?” I will do these things later, I tell myself. I don’t want to disturb my morning routine. It already feels wrecked.

Part of my wrecked sensation came from a foot episode. The one which has recovered from surgery. When I arose to partake of Papi’s ingress/egress routine, the foot was painful and stiff. I’d not had any issues with it. So I responded to self, “WTF?” Thoughts of what I did with the foot the previous day were pursued. Nothing meaningful was found. It feels fine now. I register it in my permanent record as another life mystery.

Tame Impala is performing “Let It Happen” in the morning mental music stream. Maybe it’s associated with the dreams. Could also be from thinking about ordering and installing the bidet seat or from pondering the crumbling United States and the GOTP and MAGA response is to it. Although The Neurons have been with me for a few years, I’m still trying to understand how they work.

“Let It Happen” came out in 2015. I didn’t remember that. Looked it up on the net. Wiki thingy’s summary says, “Let It Happen” is about “finding yourself always in this world of chaos and all this stuff going on around you and always shutting it out because you don’t want to be part of it. But at some point, you realize it takes more energy to shut it out than it does to let it happen and be a part of ‘it’.” That’s according to Kevin Parker. Parker is the Australian who wrote the song and performs it.

I think I’m seeing some glimmering of why The Neurons have it racing around my morning mental music stream.

Coffee is not helping much this morning. My bed is singing me a lullaby. But it’s April 1. No foolin’. We’re washing the bed linens. And I want to get on to things. Writing, um, showering and dressing. I also have a bidet to order.

Hope your day is going better. Cheers

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Munda’s Theme Music

Winter is still taking a knife to spring. You feel it in the air.

“It’s cold,” my wife says.

“I know. Thirty-nine degrees.”

“Isn’t April tomorrow?”

I confirm that my Fitbit tells me that it’s March 31, 2025. “This is Ashlandia. What’s that have to do with it?”

My wife stares at the window. “I don’t see any blue sky.”

I look out with her. “It’s raining. Happy Monday.”

She’s off to her exercise class. I am alone in the house. I’ve not been alone in the house for almost three weeks. Not like that will cause me to run around naked. I do that even if she’s here. “You’re a frustrated nudist,” she tells me.

“Maybe.”

It’s supposed to be 50 degrees as a high today. Probably will make that but will feel like 48. Even with the house to my self, I putter through the standard processes. Coffee, exercise, and food is still needed. The cat’s routine is focused on me so that didn’t change.

Papi isn’t pleased with the weather, either. The wind has died. That’s a plus in the cat’s mind. When the wind is blowin’ hard, he vacillates about where to go and what to do. Without the wind, he’s willing to risk the rain for a chance of sunshine. When that doesn’t appear, he sounds the alarm to get back into the house. Then we start again.

I found him sitting on the entry way bench yesterday. That was once Tucker’s domain. The bench is located at the intersection between the main hall, foyer, and kitchen. The big black and white cat loved being up front where he could observe everything going on and greet visitors.

“I guess you are the number one cat,” I told Papi. Apparently my tone annoyed him. He jumped down and marched into the living room to groom.

I have the Young Rascals’ jumping cover of “Good Lovin'” in my morning mental music stream. The Neurons who put it there are mum why. Coming out in 1966, it played on the ten-year-old me’s radios all the time, it felt. I love the organ work. The group later shortened their name to the Rascals. The ‘young’ addition to the band’s name was to avoid conflict with the Harmonica Rascals. There was probably a group called the Guitar Rascals that didn’t make it. Funny, but ‘rascals’ is another of those words with an old-fashioned feel and has faded from use.

Interesting outfits on the band in the video. They appear to be wearing compression stockings like the ones I wear. Disappointing sound quality, though.

I have supped with coffee again and now I’m on my way. Hope your day is worthy of your attention. Cheers

2

Sunda’s Theme Music

The pinks and white blossoms in my view offset the clouds’ wind and wuthering suggestions. Nothing can unburdened the wind’s effect. Lowing through the sky, it randomly shakes bushes and trees, giving an impression that one big creature is chasing a herd of other creatures through the foliage. I’m thinking, a T-Rex is after a swarm of smaller things and the smaller things are frantically ripping away.

This is Sunda, March 30, 2025. Just one more day of March after this, then April arrives to try to lift our spirits in ‘Merica.

I’ve again done the tango with my cat to give him his medicine. Knowing when it’s time to be administered, he alertly avoids me and asks for permission to leave the house. Usually takes five minutes of steps and talking back and forth before the med is delivered. I try to sound cajoling and calming; he responds with disappointment and distrust. Finally done, it’s feeding time, followed by his second med. I have the system down for the second one, amlodipine. It’s a powder. I mix it in with chumley and hot water. Then out the door he goes.

And back in, because wind. Papi the ginger blade has no patience for wind. I’ve been out there, though, and agree with his assessment, as that wind carries some winter on it. Now Papi is visiting me, paws on my leg as I sit here, requesting that I pet him. I take time out of typing and reading to do that, sipping coffee as he closes his eyes and purrs. Then, enough! He trots away.

Had a chuckle this morning. I was alone, which gave it a little crazy spin: The Observer view on JD Vance: spurned in Greenland and humiliated at home, the vice-president should resign. Right. Not holding my breath on that.

Rain tats awoke me from a swell dream today. A woman visited me to return my manuscript to me. After foisting a warm hug on me, she told me that she’d read it, and it thrilled her. Thrilled me to hear her say that. As we talk, the woman is gently stroking my arm or patting my shoulder. Her two teenage daughters were with her. She turned to leave and told her daughters to go ahead, she’d catch up. The girls went out the front door. Then the woman hugged me again and kissed me. She suggested she was interested in getting more intimate right then and there. I rejected her; she insisted and kissed me again. I was kind of, why not? But her daughters, I added. She smiled; “They won’t care.” Well…okay…

The little monkeys I call The Neurons kicked consciousness off with Laura Brannigan singing her cover of “Self Control” in my morning mental music stream.

You take my self, you take my self control
You got me livin’ only for the night
Before the morning comes, the story’s told
You take my self, you take my self control

h/t to AZLyrics.com

Oh, they’re funny. The song came out in 1984 and was a hit for Brannigan. She passed away just twenty years later, only 52. I realize in retrospect that the woman in my dream looked much like Brannigan.

Papi is asleep in his malabar chair. Coffee is selling its magic in my system. The wind is singing like a lonely cat. Hope you have a good one, wherever you are. Here we go. Cheers

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Saturda’s Theme Music

The world is full of colors. Pinks, yellow, and greens win the eye. Must be spring in Ashlandia. Temp is 45 F, however, it feels like 60, if you stand just the right way. ‘They’ say it’ll be 55 F today as our high but left out how it will feel. Will it rain? Yes! Maybe! It’s Saturda, March 29, 2025, so who knows? I will dress for dry and rainy weather. Yeah, it’ll be a dorkish sight.

Papi the ginger blade, known locally as Butter Butt, doensn’t seem upset with us any longer. Could be because we bribed him with chumley and other treats. I don’t think he forgot. He seems to have a long memory about things. It could be that he’s trying to mislead me into thinking he’s forgotten and forgiven, and then raise floofhem some night when we really need sleep. That sort of cunning planning feels like his style.

I surfed through a wild dream last night. Whole thing was just a series of flash epiphanies in dark night. I was telling myself that star energy runs through us, firing the little nuclear responses in our cells that generate our life energy. We die when the star energy can no longer feed our cells. Star energy comes through our chakras into our corporeal beings, and so on. Time is something we made up, and we have it all wrong. Everything is happening at once. No past, no future. Time was created so we could think in a more orderly manner but we’ve taken it too fair. Now it’s our straitjacket.

There was much, much more. Such as there is only one universe, and the idea that we treat our bodies wrong by trying to heal it when we should be reversing things. Dream me didn’t explain how that was supposed to be accomplished.

I awoke really hot. There are different kinds of hot for us as humans. Drinking a hot beverage feels one way. Sex hot, sun hot, fever hot, sports hot which incudes dripping sweat, furnace hot, which dries us out, desert hot, are all different. If you think about these hots, you notice how each feels unique, and our bodies respond differently to each. Well, the hot felt when I awoke from this dream was wholly different from any of those hot experience. Perhaps that’s all only me. I’ve never discussed the different sort of hots I feel with others

Anyway, I awoke feeling a different manner of hot. Then I headed for the bathroom to pee.

Der Neurons have sprung “Star Man” by Davide Bowie on the morning mental music stream. This was from Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust era. Released in 1972, I don’t hear it often on the radio in ‘Merica. But I personally enjoy its message of hope being delivered by a Starman to Earth’s youth. I went with the Top of the Pops video performance. Even though the song is being mimed, it awakened and impressed many more people to the talent named Bowie.

Coffee is reassuring me once again. Time to play through. Hope your day is remarkable for you in many good ways. Peace out.

2

Frieda’s Theme Music

The week’s days have puddled together in a limpid pool of memory. I organize a flock of Neurons into enough intelligence to figure out that it’s Frieda. Part of the process is done using the Fitbit on my wrist. It tells me that it’s March 28, 2025. By going backward through the week’s blizzard of news and activities, I reach my conclusion.

Alexa tells me that it’s rainy in Ashland, forty rainy seven degrees with a high of fifty rainy two expected, and a chance of showers. Sunlight boils through my windows, mocking that weather forecast, further confusing my coffeeless Neurons. The weather likes teasing me, mystiying me about how to dress and challenging me to reconsider my plans. I think it’s mean of the weather but I don’t voice that thought. That would just make the weather mad.

A mystery has the household in a tizzy. My wife announced, “I found one of those little microfiber cloths for glass in a package when I was cleaning. I thought I’d put it in the office by my chair so I can clean off my glasses. I must clean them five times a day.”

I’m half listening, half reading, so I deploy supportive husband speak. “Good idea.”

“But it’s gone. I can’t find it.”

I remembered seeing it, too. We talk about our memories of seeing the cloth, when and where, like it’s a wake. We search the area where it was last seen, the laundry room counter used as the cat food service station. Nope, not there. Nor on the floor or behind the dryer. Things fall behind the dryer. I want to install a shelf across that space. I proposed that solution the year we moved into the house in 2006. I suggested it again last night. “Let me think about it,” my wife replies in throughful wife speak, the response first given in 2006. I mentally shrug. If the cloth is behind the dryer, I’m not getting it.

A cursory flashlight search behind the dryer shows nothing. We walk around, combing through other potential places, wondering, where did it go? It’ll turn up someday, we finally decide, quitting. Then a new mystery will start: how did it get there?

PINO Trusk’s number one component, Donald J. Trump, has inspired The Neurons again today. Thinking about how he’s wrecking the world through his prejudice and ignorance, Der Neurons cranked up the 1978 song, “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult, in the morning mental music stream. The latest trigger about my irritation with the mango beast came from Trump targeting ‘improper ideology’ at the Smithsonian Institution. Avoiding laws, debate, popular opinion, etc., he’s using his favorite tool of destruction, an executive order.

Weirdly, Trump’s prejudice against the Federal government’s role in places like the Smithsonian Institution can be traced directly back to the Smithsonian Institutions origins in 1836.

Conservatives and champions of states’ rights, such as John C. Calhoun of South Carolina, argued the federal government did not have the right to establish a national institution, conduct scientific research, or promote knowledge. Federalists and northerners, led by the learned and well-traveled John Quincy Adams, maintained that it was in the nation’s best interest in many ways. Happily, they won out.

As many, including me, note about Trump, the Trusk Regime, Project 2025, and MAGAts, their idea of progress is by going back to the 1800s.

The Neurons created an alternate version of first lines, featuring Trumpzilla and what he’s doing. Did this while making breakfast, so, yes, as little thought as you can imagine was actually engaged.

With a golfer’s grimace and a terrible sound, he pulls the United States government down.

Helpless people around the nation curse his name as he looks in on them.

He picks up a club and throws it back down as he leaves the course and heads for lunch again.

Oh no, they say he’s got to go, go, go Trumpzilla.

If you’re familiar with the song, I naturally had to address the closing lyrics as well.

History shows again and again
How politics points up the folly of man
Trumpzilla!

Okay, off I go. Coffee and I met a match in each other once again. Hope your day brings you some good cheer and satisfaction. Cheers

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Thirstda’s Theme Music

Disappointment is heavy in Ashlandia. A big storm was forecasted for us. It perversely excited us but then did not arrive. Perversely, people are disappointed. At least three posts on NextDoor and Facebook have people expressing their disapppointment that the storm did not come.

Well, it did a little. “I heard a thunk,” my wife says.

“Was that the rock on the front porch?” I noticed it when I came home.

She nodded. “Yes, I think the wind blew the top two rocks off the cairn. At least, I heard the thunk and locked out and saw the rocks and nothing else.”

Very circumstantial evidence. “I’ll put them back.” I must because she can’t balance them on the cairn. We don’t know why.

I’m disappointed, but not over the storm. I’d planned to weed around our hydrangea. Put it on my to-do list and everything. But she weeded. I’m happy the job is done but displeased that I wasn’t the one to do it. There are many more weeding opportunities. That’s little consolation.

Today is Thirstda, March 27 2025. Spring continues dancing with our expectations. We started out with a dispiriting cloud display. The sky was tiled dark and white. Showers fell. Now, it’s sunny and in the upper 50s F. More rain is expected. So is more sun. And warmer temperatures, along with colder temperatures.

Papi the ginger blade, commonly referenced as Butter Butt, is exhausted. Days of sunshine emboldened him to dash around like a one-year old. Now he’s sleeping like a kitten. Took up his favorite malabar chair seat in mid-morning, washed, and tucked the eyes shut.

He used the litter box for a bowel movement today. That’s unusual for him. He’s enormously fastidious about it. His scratching around was the clue. When he pees in the box, he steps in and then out. No scratching.

I told my wife about it. “This is literally the third time he’s used the litter box like that since Tucker passed,” I noted. “I think it’s because it was raining. He didn’t want to go in the rain and get his fur wet.”

The Neurons have lined up “Liar” by Three Dog Night in the morning mental music stream. Yes, this is a Trusk Regime production. Jonah Goldberg caught them in a security breach. He told them so. They spun it like he was a Democrat and a liar. Also pretended that it was nothing. No classified to see here, no sir. Then The Atlantic posted the transcripts. Hah. The leak was one thing; the attempted cover up is a mess. So, “Liar” it is.

Originally an Argent song — and you can hear their musical fingerprints all over it — Three Dog Night released their cover of “Liar” in 1971 and became another top twenty offering for the group in several nations.

Coffee has perked me up again. (Get it? Sure. You’re not slow.) Time to rock and roll. Cheers

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