In the still of the night

My poor little black kitty Bixby-the-Beast got her ass kicked by some effin' hoodlum cat early this morning. Bix is named after a residential hotel that is down the street from my old downtown La La loft. It's her childhood home.

The sounds that fighting cats make are outrageous. It happened back in May too.

When I typed today's alley diary entry I was a little taken back that Miss-Raymond-Burr-wannabe noted Carl Sandburg died. When I was a little kid one of my absolutely favorite poems was his very feline "Fog":

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.