My Impending Death

Yesterday, I received a form letter from a literary agent who said that if I don't hear from her again within three weeks, to assume that she does not want to represent me. I found a book called "How to Get a Literary Agent" and downloaded it to my Kindle. I was inspired by Frank McCourt to write a memoir, and I'm not going to let either of us down. It took months to write it, and if it takes even longer to find an agent, then that is what I am going to do because it's all part of the process.

Phyllis is kind enough to make me lunch for work when it is her day off. Even on the days when she goes to work, she will cut up some musk melon or make a snack plate, something like that. Last night, I had chicken enchiladas. They were really good. Plenty of chicken, cheese, tortillas and black olives. There was also a special treat in one of the big bites I shoveled into my gaping maw, and that was a metal twisty tie from the tortilla package. I choked and had to be rushed to the ER. They had to drill a hole into my windpipe to get out the metal twisty tie.

I took Pete for a bike ride yesterday and there was a big loose dog that circled us. It looked like a wolf, and had probably come down from Canada to feast on pets. It took one look at Pete and ran for the hills because Pete is no one to mess with. He has that look about him, like someone who enjoys drawing blood, even when he is tied to a bicycle.

If we ever have to call the police due to an intruder or because Phyllis is trying to kill me, the police will probably shoot Pete because he will try to attack them. Think about this: was the twisty tie in my lunch an accident? Phyllis seems kind and gentle and likes to watch old movies on TCM. You wouldn't think someone like that could be a heartless killer, but you can't be too careful when it comes to your own life. From now on, I'm going to chew my lunch very carefully, and I'm going to be very nice to Phyllis. I'm going to buy her a present. It's going to be a surprise. It's going to be some t-shirts, but I won't tell her until I get them. That should make my lunch safe to eat.

The spice finch is still alive. We used to have two, but one died. When one of them was a baby, it got caught on a wicker nest and almost bled to death. Phyllis saved its life by building it a little ramp so it could eat and drink. The one that is still alive went through a period of a few days where it looked like it was dying, laying on the bottom of the cage and losing its feathers. Phyllis gave it food and water on the bottom of the cage, and it is fine now. Okay, maybe she didn't try to kill me with the twisty tie, because if you're going to save a little bird, you're probably not going to try to choke someone to death. It just doesn't fit the pattern. I'm feeling better about that.

P.S. That stuff about going to the E.R. was a lie. But it could have happened. That stuff about the wolf was also a lie. It really was a big dog, though.