Last night, sitting in the cockpit of the Champs de Mars, waiting for crew to arrive, I told The Keelhauler all about my great theory that all these black cats showing up in my life was some sort of omen, and explained all the instances of them appearing (even though he�d been there to witness almost every one, so this omen, if it is one, could actually be directed at him). He gestured toward my handbag�a masterpiece in avocado-green needlepoint featuring a daisy-covered picket fence�and pointed out a little black cat peering from behind a fencepost. Mm-HM!

Then, I opened the paper this morning and the first picture I saw was that of a big black cat. He was lying in one of the upstairs rooms of a dollhouse, I�m guessing maybe a bedroom, although his body obscures the entire space. The room directly below him is in chaos, so maybe someone relocated all the furniture in order to make room for Mr. Scooters, or whatever his name is. What�s his name? Moonshine. It says it right here in the paper. Anyway. It�s a black cat. And right next to it is an advice column by Carolyn Hax, headlined "ENJOY THE TIME THAT REMAINS."

Is this one of the Rob Brezsny-dictated signs that I�m supposed to be looking for?

In other news, I am listening to The Pork Torta�s CD called �The Power of Three.� You should probably go get it, too, so we can all groove in harmony together, long-distance. (Not really.) But you really should go get it, because it rocks, and listening to songs like �Yeh Yeh Bump� and �Chickostick Island,� with all the fuzztone and random yelling of �One-two-three-four!� seems like a good thing to do while Enjoying the Time That Remains, however long that might be.

Star of the day. . .Jane Birkin