I walked around the southern portion of Levy this morning for 36:14.
This afternoon, John Czarnecki and I played War Memorial Golf Course. My ribs felt fine. I scored 80, with nines of 41 and 39, and John 91. I had 2 birdies (on Nos. 10 and 16), 3 pars, 8 bogies, 5 doubles, and used 30 putts.
For the second time this year, I nearly had a hole in one. My 9-iron tee shot on No. 9 landed in the front fringe and rolled by the pin, inches from the hole. John and I both thought it was going in.
It appears Joe has decided on a nocturnal lifestyle. He has spent two of the last three nights outside. We'll see what happens tonight, but he's out now and completely wired (at 9:20 p.m.). I guess it's OK. I like the ol' cat between my knees when I sleep, but in truth, it's probably safer for a cat to be outside all night rather than outside all day. Plus, it's kind of fun to open up the door at 6-8 a.m. and watch Joe come running in all hungrier than two motherfuckers.
Joe acts as if he loves me just as much as Pam and Jo did, but he's a way different cat. I do occasionally have to remind him that he's no more than a fifteen-minute drive away from the dog pound where I bought him, but that has in no way deterred him from climbing into my bookshelves and tossing books onto the rug. Climbing onto my desk and swatting mugs full of pens and bookmarks onto the hardwood floors. Godamn laughing and pitching ashtrays and marbles all over the fucking bathroom. This relatively beautiful black-and-gray tabby shredded an entire roll of toilet paper in my bathtub. He likes to jump from a table in my back bedroom into the closet and attempt to climb clothes to a shelf six feet off the floor. Motherfucker has twice climbed to the top of my backdoor screen and screamed for someone to rescue him.
To summarize, I love Joe completely.
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