And here we have mom's 2 cats, Emily (tabby) and the newest addition, BooBoo (black-ish) who was a stray with some sort of problem with her hind end/spine, hence the name. Plus as you can tell, we are big fans of the word BooBoo. Boo has trouble walking straight, but she seems to be getting better. Em and Boo are like sisters now (or a momma and baby), and we often find them wrapped up together in one cat bed. DOE DWEET! But sometimes, they just need their own space:

This is a photo of a sketch of me done at age 6, by a local artist in Houston that mom commissioned. It's hanging in my Dad's house in Baton Rouge, next to the one of my brother. There's also another one, with both of us, hanging in the guest room here. I remember sitting for this portrait in the woman's art studio/attic. I sort of resembled this rendering. I think she had one stock set of eyeballs she used for every portrait, because my brother's look exactly the same in his, and our eyes did not, as I recall, take up half the space in our heads:

I suppose I'll have to post his portrait as well for comparison? He was age 7, so there's no way we could've been twins, but hell if you could tell:

DO NOT STARE AT THE EYES TOO LONG! Also, as an interesting (?) sidenote, the artist wrote our ages in very small print near our shirt collars, which is why I know when these were done. My brother and I used to love to locate the ages on these portraits as we got older, like it was some hidden picture game from Highlights magazine. We were strange children who ate plaster and sucked spilt water from the carpet, so that was one of the more normal things we did.

And by the way, I believe my brother knows I have a blog, but I don't know if he's ever read it (doubtful). He would probably KILL me for posting that portrait. But that would require him being in the same room with me again, and possibly speaking to me (he'd have to manage at least a "HOW DARE YOU!" or "GRRRRR! DIE DIE DIE!" before strangling me, don't you think?)

But his wife keeps up with my blog (hi sweetie!), so she's either going to laugh her ass off, or...more likely, ream me up and down for taunting HIM OF THE GIANT PORTRAIT EYEBALLS, even though he'll be completely unaware, because there's no way (?) she'll ever mention it to him. But if he ever happens to reconcile with me, or is reading my blog on the sly unbeknownst to me, and becomes livid over this post, all I have to say is this:

BRING IT ON, CURLY FOREHEAD LOCKS!

And people say I'm passive-aggressive.

(I love you, bro. Call me! [sing-song voice with thumb and pinkie phone-to-ear gesture])

But seriously, I do love my brother. Very much. And I miss him. Will we ever talk again? (Stay tuned to "Sibling Shitfest" for the stunning conclusion, in 3 years or so).

Alright, one last photo to wrap things up. Here's one from my trip Northeast last summer, from the Lizzie Borden B&B. Guests Marilyn and Jack are recreating the hacking death of Andrew Borden in the parlor. Seemed apropos:

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