NASHVILLE. Mister Green’s paw was hurt, but it seems to have healed. Miss Hissy has returned. She and Mister Green are married for the moment. Daddy-o hates Mister Green and pins his ears back whenever Mr. G comes into view. A little gold horse. I bought an anti-destructible toy lion for Djuna and I mistake it for one of the cats three times a day. The grass is up. The daffs will be played out in two days. I planted foxgloves. We’ll see.

Last night I dreamt of a brown fox. My cohort peered at it, faintly disgusted by its (or any?) fur. “It’s a fox!” I say. They don’t respond. “It’s a FOX,” I repeat, as if speaking more loudly would convince them. I have no idea, when I am using a normal speaking voice, how loud it is or is not.