4:36 a.m.

By ART MCGREGOR
Blog on the Run editor

That's a bunch of bullshit. Nothing good ever happens after 2 a.m.? Maybe in real life, but as far as text messages go, you're golden Pony Boy with the texts between 2a and 5a. Well, most of the time.

Last night I had the pussy in the room before the 4:36 a.m. text. It's not like I'm telepathic or nuttin' either. No nuttin' last night, either.

Went to bed innocently enough around midnight, heard some meow-ing in my room at 4:30a. That's right, there was a cat in my room. Not making this up. I immediately think, "what the fuck?" (true story) and try to figure out how that guerrilla got into my midst. Then it struck me. Miss July has a cat! But I sleep with my door closed and there's no entry ways into my room. (Except the door, duh. Without a door, I'd have to climb into windows and my last climbing expedition ended up in a broken leg, not counting a couple skafuzas I brought home from 185.) None. So unless I took an early morning piss (probable) and left the door open for a splitter second and Ernesto the Cat crept in, I have a magic cat living at my house. That's the tits.

Miss July knew nothing about this but likely heard my rummaging around. She sent me a text at 4:36a that read: "Insomniac?" I doubt she was talking about the TV show or movie.

So with the fact I don't like animals and likely will go an entire summer without petting the cat (won't go the entire summer without heavy petting), I could honestly answer "what did you do last night?" with "I just dodged some magic pussy. No biggie."