…but a bad week for pets. First Charlie [see previous blog] and now my son’s cat, Tigre, died. Phillip is heartbroken, as am I – for him. Reminds me of the time I brought a rabbit home from camp [Kittatinny, of course]. I named it “Maranville”, after the Hall of Fame shortstop. Long story, short: My mother gave it to the cleaning woman, Izola [Queen Of The Mop] I thought the creature would be living out its life, surrounded by competent vacuumers and gospel music. “How’s R.M.?”, I did declare the very next Friday. “Delicious”, said she. “Fuck”, said I. It wasn’t the first [or the last] time I used that word to express my displeasure.