Proof positive that anyone seeking the rottenest of the felines doesn't have to go much further than the foyer of my house. As usual, the little darlings (and I say that with all the latest in dripping-sarcasm technology) have been extraordinarily helpful with all house chores and activities, ranging from reading to room-painting.

(Click on a photo to get a larger version.)

Think you're going to be the only one sitting in that chair? Think again:

Saturday afternoon. The day's rains were half-completed before we ventured out. Ask anyone who has lived here long enough and they'll tell you it's true: it never rains just once in Alabama summertime. Always twice. First time it comes down as rain, and the second time it comes back up as steam.

Homeowners with sense have all their outdoor projects completed before the onset of June, because the heat and humidity have a persistence and insidiousness that can hand you heat exhaustion before you're done with your work.

Remember, friends: those who have nothing better to do than to hit on random women online should be treated like telemarketers. If you've got more pressing issues to attend to, by all means amputate their noxious presence as quickly as possible.

But.

Not busy? Bored? Claws needing a touch of sharpen? Best thing you can do for your fellow mortals is to toy with your New Special Friend a bit. Every minute you tie them up in conversation is a minute a) they have to actually interact with another human being and b) they don't get to spend hitting up some other poor sap who probably doesn't have half your backbone.

Think of it as doing something good for the species.

I can almost hear the voice, tactile and smooth in my imagination, curling and settling softly in my ears like the finest, cleanest lines of Miles Davis.

"This is the all-night request line, for those of you awake enough to know we're closer to daylight than midnight. Got a request? A dedication? Something on your mind?" A pause. If there was such a radio show, playing at an hour like this, on a night like this, I could imagine a speech like that hanging on a pause and finishing with "Give us a call. We'll see what we can do." The hiss of dead air would be followed by the the shuffling of notes and fingers, followed by shunting the current phone call to the live audio feed.

After all, a show like this one wouldn't exactly need a tape delay.

* * * * *

"A good night to you, caller. You got me. I'm listening. Talk to me. Tell us who you are."

"I'm Amy, from Huntsville. I've been trying to call in for ages, and just couldn't ever get through."

Marriage changes you, they say.

I spent my Saturday running back and forth between the bride's room and the groom's room, playing wedding photographer-imp in an aging green dress, shoes tight and clacking mercilessly against the tile floor. By virtue of my sex I was allowed in the bride's room, and through marriage and friendship was allowed to hang out in the groom's room.

Every person should be so lucky to have a glance like this on a day like this one.

To Rick and Jessica, on their wedding day, congratulations.