Rev. Erudite Redneck, B.S., B.S., M.A., M.Div.

(I'm cheating. I "overheard" myself.)

ER: (Bam-bam-bam). "Giddy up. We need to talk before I go to work."

Bird: "Unnggghrr ... (grumble, grumble) ..."

Half-minute later ...

Bird: "Urmph?"

ER: "Your mom (Dr. ER) is pretty pissed about the bag of cat shit in your bathroom."

Bird, fully awake now: "Huh? You mean the litter box?"

Editor's Note: The "litter box" she refers to is an aluminum bread loaf pan. The "cat" "lives" in her bathroom, since he was found "injured" and "caterwauling" in the front yard a "couple" of weeks ago. "Ice-T," his name is, and he "sleeps" on a potholder on the floor of Bird's water closet-toilet room or whatever the heck it's called.

ER: "No, she said there was a paper bag full of cat shit and litter in there."

Bird: "(Gasp). Oh, I forgot."

ER: Whatever. I'm not pissed. Just take it out.

Bird: "OK."

ER: "Your mom was pretty hot about it. But, considering the shape the rest of the house is in, I don't think a bag of cat shit in a bathroom where a cat lives on a potholder on the floor next to the toilet rises to the level of an offense."

Bird, whose sense of irony, political nuance and sophisticated erudite redneck humor is not yet fully developed, smirked slightly and went back to bed. And I was in such a rush I don't know whether she took the bag of cat shit out or not.

Our house is a wreck because our lives are so busy. Dr. ER and I are fixing to head to Santa Fe, where, if there really is a God, we will find time to relax, even though this is a work trip for her. Wish us well.

--ER