The canine companion remains wonderful. She's about a foot away right now, sprawled on the orange tile floor. I tried writing a poem about her tonight, but poems about pets tend to suck.
I wrote a poem about my ex-roommate Sean's cat. It was called "Kira," and I was pleased with it. But cats seem somehow more suited for poetry. After all, Old Possum wrote an entire volume about them. And then the horrid ex-Mr. Brightman felt compelled to pen some tunes for those poems.
Thankfully, that's all a separate story. Much more coherent too, if I weren't quite as exhausted.