he thought i was in love with him, but during our embrace, i was looking over his shoulder at a computer screen and he has his head next to mine, and he digs his claws in until I scream.

He is, what Dr. Smith would call my Demon Lover.
Demon Lover being the guy/monster we know is bad, but are attracted to anyway. For no good reason. And he'll probably kill me.

His name is Magic. I don't have that much experience these last couple of years with cats. Margot stays outside. Celisse's cat Zwingli either loves you or hates you.

But this Magic cat is a creeper. One moment he is purring, and then the next he is mauling me. He screams at 1 a.m. at other cats in the carport til I think I'm going to shoot him with the revolver that helps me sleep at night. He is black, and I didn't used to be supersticious but my Horror class has got my heart beating in my throat at night. He is sudden.

In other news. There is a customer that I appreciate. I say this in leiu of customer appreciation week, which is next week. Come open up an account, we'll give you a donut and sanitizer spray that comes out of this plastic thing that looks like it should actually be a calculator.

The customer I appreciate, his name is Sergio. I am guessing he is in his mid-forties or close to fifty. I'm not very good at guessing age, but he looks older than my dad. Anyway. I can't understand half of what he says.
"When are you due?" he says to me a week ago.
"Oh....soon." I say. Always willing to play along with this sad imperception. (I swear, it was the shirt I was wearing. Or my burrito/beer baby)
"Like, 10 months?" He asks, aware of his mistake very quickly.
"Yes," I say. "10 months."
"How many kids do you have?" He asks.
"Four boys," I say, counting his hundreds carefully.
"Oh MY GOSH. Four boys, really?" He says, and then, "Bla bla bla," that I can't understand, through his thick accent. At least he tries to speak English. I barely let on to customers that I know Spanish, except accidentally when I nod at something they say in Spanish, and they catch me.

So now he always asks about my kids, and I feel like Philip, and his made-up children. And I don't mind lying to the clients. Sometimes they like it. Sometimes it's necessary, when the men ask you out, or track you down.

It was a beautiful Spring day, and after being stabbed repeatedly in a staff meeting, I think: "Only 59 more days. Fake it until I make it." Fake it 'til I make it.

I will conquer these present obstacles.
"Meekness: Uncommon patience in planning a revenge that is worth while.”
-Ambrose Bierce