Dear Stanley,
Seeds get stuck in Wicket’s teeth; she’s picky about that. Apples might be a good idea, but right now she’s too busy eating Julia’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Wicket likes potato chips.
Can you read my mind? You know what it is that you do to me? I don’t know who you are. Just a friend from another star. Here I am like a kid out of school, holding hands with a god: I’m a fool. Will you look at me: quivering, like a little girl; shivering. You can see right through me.
Wicket’s BFFL, Ripley, is a fucking cat supermodel. Wicket wishes she could be like her.
Ripley, unlike some cats and most people, is amused by anything she can bat around on the floor. While most animals expect entertainment, Ripley creates her own. In this picture, she’s lying in the basket where we keep the cat toys. Ripley often takes toys out of the basket, and, more often than not, returns them. A very special cat.
We have fun. Wicket: the Catloaf.
Spooning.
Wicket cuddles with my roommate’s rescued cat, Ripley (named after the famous Siguourney-Weaver-portrayed character). Wicket is alert because directly in front of her my computer is playing Home Movies (my favorite show in the world- available for free on YouTube, believe it or not). Wicket is particularly attentive to H. Jon Benjamin’s voice (as Coach McGuirk, not Jason). She even wandered into my room during his cameo on Parks and Recreation.
Wicket enjoying the spring sunshine. Never have legs been splayed so gracefully.
Wicket watches Angel with us while we drink whiskey. Fine art by Julia in the background.
Wicket cleans herself and stares at me a little. Trust me: it’s fucking adorable.
