I’m going to BlogHer this July. I’ve wanted to go ever since its inception but it was always so far away and I just didn’t have the money. This year it’s in Chicago, and I still don’t have any money but Chicago is so central, so much more FAIR, and I can drive that far! Oh, hoorah for the centralness of the location this year! A kazillion thank-yous to whoever was responsible for the Chicago decision!

Okay, I won’t be driving, but my daughter is going with me, and she’s an expert driver and navigator.

I’m looking forward to BlogHer so much, it’s indescribable, so I won’t try. The gushing would be maudlin and make you all say ‘bleh.’ Besides, it’s probably silly to many of you that a blogging conference could possibly mean so much to me, but the truth is, it does.

I plan to have a wonderful time. I plan to meet lots of lovely people whose blogs I’ve read for years or months or maybe even just weeks, but who seem as familiar to me as if they lived right next door.

I’m rooming with Grace, and I think maybe meeting her will be the most wonderful part of all. Grace has been my blog-idol ever since I read that first word on her blog some three or so years ago. In the Blogosphere, four years is a lifetime. Without Grace, my life would have been far bleaker than it often is. I cherish Grace. So should all of you.

I had intended to lose a million pounds before BlogHer so as not to startle you all with my immensity, but it didn’t happen, so be prepared. I’ve seen pictures of past BlogHer participants and everyone looked so young and trim. . . . they had pretty clothes, too.

On the bright side, everybody will be able to pick me out of a crowd easily. On the dark side, ditto.

Time is getting near, my dears. I hope you are all registered and planning to have a wonderful time in Chicago. July, July, July!

Grace, my darling, it won’t be long now ’till I’ll be screaming your name. No, not like that, you pervs. Oh, I do love the mentality of the Blogosphere!

I’ll be getting a sub for my Thursday classes and getting up there Thursday late afternoon, I hope. Belle is taking a couple of days off work to accompany her Mommy to the Big City. If anybody lives between Bedford and Chicago and needs a ride, let me know. If you’re not too far off the beaten path, we can work something out!

Oh, BlogHer, BlogHer, BlogHer, BlogHer. . . . .my summer mantra is BlogHer.

BlogHer, and “meow.” And “yum yum eat ’em up.” Bonus points if you know where THAT quote came from.

My very aged cat died a few weeks ago and I’ve really been missing him. I gave away all the cat food, the extra flea drops, the cat toys, etc. Pretty much the only evidence the cat lived here, besides the nine million pictures, is all those smeary pawprints on the lower half of the French doors. I’m not sentimental about them; I’m just a lazy housekeeper.

People have offered us kittens and cats, but we weren’t ready.

This morning, I heard what sounded like a large raucous bird on the front porch. I opened the door and there was a tiny kitten, screaming its head off. It took one look at me and ran for the shrubberies. (A Monty Python kitten; how cool is that?)

Later this afternoon, I heard the screaming again. This time, I went out and sat down in the porch chair and waited. The kitten peeked out at me from behind the azaleas but was too scared to come out.

A couple of hours ago, I heard it again. I went out again. This time the kitten climbed up my leg and nestled into my arms as if it belonged there. As I type, she’s walking all over my keyboard. She’s too light to type anything. She’s loving and purry, and all black-and-gold-and-gray.

So far I’ve pulled about two dozen little burrs out of her fur. And two ticks, yuck. She hasn’t poopied yet but it’s just a matter of time. She can’t handle any kind of solid food, and she was desperately rooting all over me so I knew she was hungry. I dipped a rolled-up paper towel in condensed milk and let her suck on it, and drew her mouth down to the bowl. She caught on fast, and was able to lap up the milk. I made a litter box out of an old paint tray (she won’t have far to climb up into it) and we had a little digging session which I hope she remembers when the time comes, and it will come.

I wish I’d had my camera when I opened the door and saw this tiny black and gold screamer on my porch. She’s so little, and her bones feel incredibly fragile. I think her mother was Hester, the whore-cat, but it’s a moot point because Hester didn’t look both ways when she tried to cross the road a few days ago.

I know it’s ridiculous to be so happy over a tiny little kitten that just showed up at my door screaming, but it’s been a lousy week and to be chosen by this innocent little ball of fur feels like such an honor.

Last week, I wasn’t ready for a new cat. Today, I am.

Welcome, Vera, to my house. Please don’t poop on the carpet.