24 August 2001 - 11:05 a.m.

The exterminator came today, and located, via bat droppings, how the motherfucker was able to find its way into my abode. Apparently, there is no bat colony nearby, this one just got lost. I'm trying not to feel guilty for having made Gus beat the shit out of it with the broom. One thing I have learned about bats: they cannot fucking die. Almost everyone I know who has had a bat invade their living space has believed the bat to have been killed by cat, rolled up newspaper, whatever, and then had the bat resurrect. Ugh!

Fucking bats.

And speaking of droppings, Hatbox just left a pile on my kitchen rug. What is it about that thing? If I get rid of it, will she go exclusively in her litter box?

Fucking cats.

I could write a really angry Dr. Seuss book in my frame of mind.

"Fucking bats and fucking cats, chatting little fucking chats,

Shitting on my kitchen mat.

Bad cat!

Poor mat!

Floor mat!

Sore bat!

Bat guts on my fucking broom,

cats chase bats around the room!

Cat shits on my fucking floor,

Gus hits sore bat out the door!"

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: