the clock on the ceiling smirks at me as the hands click into place slightly past 5am.
i sit in front of the only light still shining in the quiet, peaceful apartment.
my god, did i just say peaceful?!
willing my eyeballs to remain uncrossed long enough for me to submit these journals, emails, and questions, one thought slams into the inside of my skull:
WHERE IS THE FURBALL? THE DEMON SEED? SATAN HERSELF?
it is never this quiet. quiet equals something very, very bad.
and then it happens.
i see her in a flash of feather duster tail and crazy kitten eyes.
two tiny claws hook the edge of the money tree pot and
my gorgeous money tree, survivor of many, many moons, is now in critical condition.
The Man and i launch the save a money tree program.
we improvise.
i mean, come on, it's 5:15am.
we are not early risers.
so there is no talking. just doing.
the demon seed stares at us, plastering herself to the couch pillows if i glance her way.
2 coat hangers
1 wire of unknown origin
1 plastic knife
8 or so pieces of automotive paint tape
a good length of speaker wire
and a shoelace later
and...
it's still touch and go.
