On Felines

There is an orange cat named Gregory who sleeps on the unclaimed top bunk. Some people remind me of orange cats, but I don't know why. Maybe it's because I feel very comfortable around them, or because orange cats seem so much warmer than the other cats.

There is a three or four-week-old kitten in the white house. He started eating today, but he couldn't figure out how to take bites of his food. Instead he kneaded it, rubbed his face and paws in it, and tried to drink it like milk. He drank water from a syringe, milk from a rubber-topped bottle. A grey cat, not orange.

Everyone resembles some kind of cat.

I made stew, bread. Burnt beans taste worse one day later.