I am absolutely livid. It is one of those occasions where I doubt any abilities I may have as a loving mother. One of my cats tore in half my beloved 10 year old Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall poster. I fed her and let her into the other room and am sitting here fantasizing about being a football player scoring a touchdown with a feline ball. Only thing makes me not go absolutely berserk on her is the way she greeted me and the fact that she doesn't really know what she's done. Which brings me to the point, kids do know what they're doing so how would I keep my rage in check then?

That stream of consciousness flows into another. Now that poster is always torn, like when someone dies and you try to remember them alive, the tinge of death is always there.

I was going to talk about madness, but I guess it is best to let the brain sleep...