Briefly.

All other things being equal, there's not much we vet assistants enjoy more than bursting open a nice, juicy cat abscess.

In a little less than two weeks, I go to New York to visit my clever beau, and to go on missions throughout the city, exploring, prowling in search of carousels and high-quality pastry. Until then, I'm working and working, distractedly watching the occasional movie, cuddling as many animals as will hold still long enough, and acting casual.

Tonight's film, I watch in the apartment of my best girl and her best man. They've got a spacious Columbia City two-bedroom with funky furniture and art on the walls. One cat, Jibs, is aged and haughty. Her huge, lamplike eyes and alert, vaguely judgmental ears give her the appearance of a conservative owl who's just seen something that offends it on a deeply personal level. The other cat, Hoagie, greets everyone from family to strangers at the door, wagging his tail like a dog. Picking him up is like picking up a warm, hairy, delighted sack of potatoes - heavy, soft, and thrilled just to be loved by you.

Tomorrow: declaws, hugs, the word "sir."