Casimir celebrates Christmas When we lived in Providence we had this cat-sitter, Ashlee, who charged $17 a day and was the most disorganized person I've ever met. In the year we dealt with her she lost two Palm Pilots and one paper organizer, which she bought after giving up on the Palm Pilots. Sometimes I'd call her up and she'd say, "Oh, I'm glad you called. I couldn't remember what weekend you were going away and I lost your number." So in retrospect it's not surprising that over Memorial Day she just never showed up. We came home and poor G was frantic and starving. (What is surprising is that we hired her one more time. Less surprising: He bit her.)

We hired a new cat-sitter in Chicago and, with horrific visions of another Ashlee incident extended over 9 days, I called our new sitter "to make sure everything was OK." As a result, for the last 3 days I've gotten daily voicemails listing everything our cat ate, played and shat. Yesterday's message recounted an hour and a half of play in the bathtub, living room and office, rounding off with some lap time until finally G dragged his butt under the coffee table and conked out.

She doesn't get his name right, though. Instead she calls him "Casimir," as in Gen. Casimir Pulaski, a popular figure in Chicago. We're obviously getting our $15 worth, but still, who the hell would name a cat Casimir? 

¶ 10:07 PM