Liese, that's an artwork to be very happy with. Gonna listen a few more times when not interrupted to yell GIT DOWN LOKIDAMNIT.

I have vacuumed and mopped the whole damned house and now the damn floors will not dry. I really need to triage the coffee table but I'm about worn out and need to walk Loki before I turn him into slippers.

That is delightful, Anne!

I'm gonna have to ask around, see who in my local acquaintance likes cheese and (optional) dressing up. There must be some.

So I take Loki out for a walk. He immediately goes jungle cat and I'm chasing him up and down the block, hissing and growling. Meanwhile, Pumpkin is sitting in my open bedroom window, crying like she's being tortured. It's a nice night, people are out.

"Yo, is that yours too?" ( pointing at window) Um, yeah."You should let her play too." She climbs trees."So does that one." GODDAMNIT LOKI.

(He only gets about 3' up, but damn, he's being impossible tonight.)

Laura Hillenbrand's comment on the Belmont:

• *********

Be thankful for defeat. Be thankful for failure. Be thankful for frustration, for heartbreak, for foolish mistakes, for frailty, for hard luck, for doubt, for longing. These are the things that gauge the robustness of the challenges we choose, that sound the depths of our bravery and fortitude, that measure our worth. Only those intimate with the pain of loss feel in full the sweet euphoria of triumph. I am grateful that I waited thirty-seven years, since I was a little girl, for this day. I am grateful for all the brave horses who tried and failed and scattered our hopes. When American Pharoah bent his exquisitely beautiful body into the homestretch at Belmont today, scorching fractions faster and faster as his jockey sat taut-armed on his back and 90,000 fans shouted him home, it was those horses, and those thirty-seven years, that made his staggering, unbelievable accomplishment meaningful. They were the leavening of this overwhelming joy, as essential to it as this magnificent creature. Thank you to the starcrossed Spectacular Bid, to the crying jockey Chris Antley, to the gallant little Smarty Jones, to all the others. American Pharoah, welcome to greatness.

Oh, that's good. Thanks for posting that, David.

God, Smarty Jones. I wept when he lost the Belmont. He was so good. It was just too far.

Best horse name ever. DH sometimes still calls me Smarty Jones.

I would write down my To Do List for tomorrow, but a cat is sleeping on the blanks, so I guess I will just go to bed.

It's beautiful, Liese, and the lyrics really resonate.

I am trapped under my cat! Because SOMEONE was racing around the house all night, and is now sleepy. (Hint: not me.)

Good job, Hazel. Trap that human.

I mean I am a normal human typing with my normal human fingers with no particular feline agenda. Carry on. Nothing to see here.