Hello, Kitty
I took Diva to her annual veterinarian appointment last week. My father reported that the last time he took Diva to the vet she had not wet her cage (they call it a "carrier," but let's call a spade a spade, shall we?); alas, this did not prove to be the case on this occasion. She made quite the mess of herself, but that's not unusual, especially for indoor cats like Diva who are almost never out-of-doors, much less locked in plastic & metal cages & loaded into motorcars. Diva is one pound heavier than she was last year—this worried the vet, but it made my heart sing. I've wanted a fat cat my entire life. Sam was long & lean, a leopard in miniature; Tiger arrived fat, but nervous, & slowly but steadily lost weight until her premature demise, the stress of her former captivity having taken years off her life; Diva is pleasantly plump, at long, long last. The vet, replete with the improbable but apropos surname of Fox, wishes for Diva to get more exercise & to be fed on a rigid schedule, instead of "openly fed" with a bowl of food ever at her disposal. I've tried to engage Diva with her toys, both the mouse-shaped laser pointer & the "fishing rod" thingies, but the pattern is as it ever was: Diva engages for a few minutes, then sits down & follows her quarry with her eyes only. What am I to do? As for ending the open feeding, hardy har har, it is to laugh. Diva's name is fitting, as I explained to a kindly old lady in the lobby who asked if Diva was always so vocal: "There's a reason we named her Diva." I want a fat cat, yes, even if it takes years off the end of Diva's life; the years she has will be grand years, with her every want satisfied. Besides, the vet would not have to put up with the pathetic, plaintive meows of a Diva suddenly put on a strict diet. Diva would not understand why she was being deprived of food, she would only know that she's hungry & not being fed. The cat stays fat.

The big news, though, is Diva's new cage. It is a top-loader! Instead of coaxing & forcing Diva through the front door & swinging it closed behind her, now I can simply lower her into the cage & seal it up atop her. Gravity lends an assist & the top opening it too wide for her legs to get proper purchase, reducing her ability to fight back. it's just that easy! I've wanted a top-loading cat cage for years, decades almost, & suddenly there it was before my disbelieving eye. A top-loading cat cage is the proverbial better mousetrap.

The Rebel Black Dot Song of the Day: SKApril
Slow Gherkin, "Trapped Like Rats in Myers Flats" from Shed Some Skin (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Slow Gherkin aren't one of the big names in third-wave ska, but they're solid. They are akin to a sports club that doesn't seem terribly impressive & yet is ahead at the end of nearly all its games, somehow flying under the radar by never be acknowledged as being as good as they are. To no one's greater surprise than mine, Slow Gherkin belongs to the "all-stars," that elite corps of bands who have been featured in every SKApril to date. As has been said of many of underrated athletic club, all they do is win.

"You know, I haven't slept in days,
But I've never felt this giddy before…"