July 8, 1999
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Again I was walking in Brooklyn. The weather was very hot, and even my cheapness couldn't stop me from entering a small deli to grab a beverage. As I'm not a fan of soda, and Ocean Spray juices taste funny, I opted for an Orangina in honor of Lars E. Makie. Candy beckoned, and my eyes scanned the offerings to find a rather strange sight. Lounging on top of the chocolates was a kitten. Sprawled over a few varieties of M&Ms, the little cat sighed deeply and adjusted her candy-bed with her hind paws. The clerk behind the counter estimated the cat's age to be four months, and I began to babble about how I was going to get a kitten in two months.

This has nothing to do with New York, but I cannot wait to have that little furry cat! She should be born any day now, I think, since kittens can't be adopted from the shelter until they're around 9 weeks old. Everybody who hears about this kitten becomes terribly bored; poor Evan and Trevor just smile at me and patiently listen to my big plans for the kitty: her special diet, toilet training for felines, how I'm going to take her on walks, and so on. My kitten won't be allowed to sleep on candy, but she will be marvelously spoiled. And now that I've gone on this tangent, I can't come up with a coherent way to end this installment of the New York series.

That shop cat was awfully cute, though.