My Cardboard Balcony

Black Socks, White Spats by Belinda Roddie Dear, sweet dapper cat: Why do you have a pair of socks on your head? The home run derby is on, so clearly, we have no time for such woolly shenanigans. Big, beautiful black dapper cat, with these atop your noggin, you appear to be like a nun or a prophet, or a strange Sith Lord ready to expel the truth from fanged lips and purring tongue. Green-eyed, spazzy dapper cat: Now you have wound the socks about you like a blanket. You sleep in California sun and fog and dreams of earthquakes and chasing bugs, while the TV sings, and the humans feast.

Want to ride in my silver taxi? Pay the fare upfront, and you'll be well on your way to Anywhere: Any Time and Any Place. Feel like cruising to the other side of the city, where the lights pretend to be a little bit brighter. No extra cost, no extra bullsh**. Want a lobster dinner in the middle of the sea? This trusty cab can be a boat, if you please. Or maybe a rocket ship flight to the moon! I can build the wings if you pay me more soon.