File under Gee, How Shocking. Now is that technically under G, or S.
UPS has my indestructible new portfolio hostage somewhere on a truck, in transit and the burning question is When. And how.
Reese is traipsing all over New Zealand, undoubtedly drinking the local vinted products and have not received any e-correspondence as of yet.
A few days ago had a gig photographing a hardened, wizened lady cop who counsels her peers about work stress disorders and abuse of substances, prevalent as can be, as one might imagine.
During my shoot there were a gaggle of thick guy cops sitting in a boardroom and she pantomimed counsel as I shot away, conversation taking surprising revelatory and confidential turns. Fellow cops not in attendance spoken of by name. Lady cop describes cuffing some of her colleagues over the years and dropping them off, kicking and screaming, at Middling City Drunk Tank, the Hoozgow for Hyper-revelers. And all the while Yours Truly thinking Should I really be hearing this, apparently they do not know that I'll be blogging this momentarily.
And yesterday, whilst getting ingredients at Ye Olde Foode Shoppe literally ran into the attorney who wanted to haul me off to the Hoozgow for Bad Journalists regarding the famed Gripping the Podium Shot, and her hubby. I was looking at him and saw her over his shoulder and, when she spotted YT, she turned on her righteous heel and fled the scene. I proceeded onwards with my shoppeing.
So it's officially Kittie Season and the cats are roamiing and moaning and my dear little eunich, Extra, has nothing to do with all this melodrama. Sanguinely waiting for his next doling of wet food, Pounce brand treats, loving pats on his regal and near-feral head.

Feral Love.