Mi vida loca. Ana, the weekend care provider arrives today, she is an angel, the other care provider is terrible, plays on her cellphone all day, cada día. Pero Ana se limpio todo la casa. She takes care of my musician friends’ mother, Justa. I am a majordomo orchestrating the house, and I am also responsible for a bevvy of cats who understand todo en español Cubano! Este lenguage es muy rapido, no Rs, no Ss. Todo inmersión.
Meanwhile, Buddy the Cat yowls his bilingual two-note aria, he is searching for his mortal beloved. I cannot tell him that no matter how many doors he visits, Kirk no esta aqui. The cat has taken to howling beneath my window every night to show his displeasure. I need earplugs and a full night’s sleep. Mi mente explotándo en tongues. Buddy, a declawed flame Persian with a ridiculous lion haircut, is the victim of a careless owner who wanted a plush toy, found safe haven here en la casa de los gatos. He is yodeling in the stairwell, which is an echo chamber. I know he is senile and deaf, I wonder if he can hear himself better there. 
He is 19, which is the equivalent of 133 human years. He has a chronic eye infection, I wonder how much he can see, because sometimes he tumbles down the stairs, and uses his paw like a blindman’s cane. He doesn’t seem to have teeth either. The four feral outside cats, the opossum and the raccoon are blessedly silent. Thank God there are no longer any cockatiels in the mix. But a cloud of escaped zoo parrots from Hurricane Katrina fly across the sky chattering up a storm.
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