Two Crummy First Drafts
Meet Carlos
Here is Carlos, sleeping, as usual. Carlos is a fat, orangie cat. He is forgetting his trauma quickly. My daughter brought Carlos from New Orleans during hurricane Katrina. He spent a week in a truck with a dog before his flight. I comforted my daughter by taking in her cat. It was easy because I love Carlos.

Meeting Carlos
I have driven three frustrating rat mazes in the SJ airport, only to be trapped in the wrong parking area. My distress mounts because Alice and Carlo’s plane lands and I am late. Being stuck behind a big sports car driven by a high-maintenance woman who fishes in the depth of a large purse for a credit card to get her Porsche out of parking hock raises my anxiety. Gads, she has to sign for it on a clipboard. "“Hurry up, they’re here already," I exhale. The guard accepts my money, not my excuse, but now IÂ’m driving in the right direction. There is Alice, my lovely, urbane world traveler daughter, with a bag slung over her shoulder and a black mesh cat carrier. She meets me in the parking lot and we hug. I scruff my finger on the nylon screen and coo apologetically to Carlos for putting him in yet another vehicle. “I promise this ride will be short.” Carlos is a mass of sweaty orange hair shed around doleful green eyes. The exertion of performing two sets of the blues without a mic shows, yet he remains ever mindful in his cat composure.  ¶ 3:27 PM