So I was walking through the kitchen, and glanced in to the yellow room (a room for writing, specially designed), and this is who I saw lying across the writing table:
It appeared that Alex had chosen to own the yellow room yesterday morning... Which is funny, because it's more of a girl's room - it's where I wrote a play that emphasized females, and it's where I plan to write a screenplay that will emphasize a female. It's yellow and purple, with touches of green and white, and is intended to welcome in the light. But it's definitely for the girls. (It is not where I wrote the baseball novel, for instance.)
And yet there he was - Alex - the boy, all boy - solidly claiming the room as his own, laying across exactly the spot where I put my laptop when I write there. The King. Like the Winnie-the-Pooh poem: "I am the king of the earth and the king of the sky..." (I am the king of this room, whether you say so or not...)
Two days ago, I did learn something from my neighbor - the one who owns Venom, Alex's nemesis. Apparently every couple of days, "someone" is leaving a pool of cat piss at her back door. At first she thought it was one of her own cats. We have surmised, however, that it is one of mine. And when I say "one of mine," I don't mean Annie.
Yes, Annie. If Alex is king, then Annie must be queen, right? Except that isn't quite right. It isn't enough, frankly. Instead, Annie is - well, Annie is the angel. Or so I believe. And if I'm posting a photo of Alex acting as king, the least I can do is post a photo of Annie being Annie - the angel in us all.