May 1, 2005
Elvis has a brother named Rory. I wasn't crazy about the name, but it grows on you. I got the job of taking Rory to get neutered. You know, neutered, clipped, gelded, taking the ornaments off the tree and its still Christmas. I'm driving him there in this Georgia Pacific cardboard box with yellow nylon rope tied around it with about fifteen wraps because Rory is such a Houdini that he kept pushing the lid off. From the box through the punched air holes came the creepiest catspeak. I swear he was saying why, why, why. Its Elvis' turn next.