Today I am a sheep. A black sheep. If we obtain photographs (I forgot my camera) I will put one up for your enjoyment.

You know what I hate, that feeling that you've got the wrong date. I knew it was 10/31. Had to be, all day yesterday was the 30th. Yet when I walked into the store this morning to pick up something for the company potluck, I realized no one else was in a costume. No one. Not even the clerks, who normally have on some make up or hats or something.

My hair is pulled up into to ponytails (ears) that pook out from this black watch cap. I'm wearing a black sweatshirt, inside out so the fuzzy side shows. I have black-rimmed eyes. I felt like an idiot.

But only for a moment. For me, Halloween is fun and dress up is always fun. So I stood a bit straighter and baaa'd when I found the cookies I wanted to buy.

Everything goes better with a baaaa.

My boys have gotten used to the idea that they are cherubs. In fact, lately when I refer to them as boys or children, they pipe up, "You mean 'cherubs.'

I'm not sure how long I've been calling them that. Possibly at the same time that I worked for Cecily. Cecily and I had codewords for any number of things because one of our coworkers was able to, as Cecily put it, hear a rat piss on cotton at midnight. In addition to the codewords, we had nicknames, hence calling my two little boys (who were not at their best behaviors back then) 'cherubs.' Then there were our boyfriends, "Mr. Wrong" and "Mr. Wrong's Cousin." No, they weren't related; they were both just wrong. I miss having nicknames for everything. It's a stress reliever. :-)

I work in the part of town they call the retail district because its where all the big shops are. Nordstrom's flagship store is here, the Bon Marche (home of the shoe sales), Westlake Mall, Pacific Place mall, and dozens and dozens of little boutique shops.

And then there's the $1 to pet the cat booth.

This little booth popped up in Westlake Park late last spring. It's not really a booth, just a cloth-covered table with a triptych behind it explaining that the kitten on display is representing a local animal shelter. For your $1 donation, you not only get to pet the kitty, but can walk away knowing your money is going to a good cause: a home that doesn't put animals "to sleep" if no one adopts them.

The kitten on display has been there since the booth first opened. He's very cute, all black with a white nose. He has a cute little knit cap on his head and occasionally wears a vest. Oh. That's the guy who handles him. Except for the black with white nose part. Anyway, today as I walked by I noticed that not only can you pet the kitty, the kitty now does tricks! He stood on his hind legs and begged. He jumped through a metal hoop. Curled into a tiny furball on the tabletop was a poofy grey kitten, the heir apparent to the black kitty's job of enticing folks to part with their money. Black kitty is getting long of leg. Pretty soon, he'll be a cat and you know what they say: The trouble with a kitten is that eventually it becomes a cat! He'll be going to Tender Vittles High while the little grey poofy one does the soliciting.

Every time I see that black kitty, I can't help but compare it to Mittens. Mittens is spastic. He's low on the cat IQ scale. He's nervous and suspicious and jittery. I suspect he eats the coffee grounds out of the trash can; that's the only explanation for his bizarre behaviour. How did that $1 kitty get to be so calm in the face of hundreds of spectators and cars whizzing by while Mittens takes off like a shot at any unusual sound?

Pike Street, where my office is located, was barracaded by those Police: Do No Cross tapes between Third and Fourth Avenues when I went out to lunch. Someone on the street said they found anthrax in that block. Pure speculation. There's nothing on that bit of street except for a Rite Aid, a Payless Shoes and a Sharper Image. Come on, who'd want to anthrax any of those shops? I refuse to become paranoid just because so many people are out to get me.

Eat out tonight. It's for a good cause. And, like with shopping, it's for the good of the nation.

More later. Wanted to catch y'all before lunch. :-)

I dreamt that Rob and I were in New York. We didn't go near the World Trade Center site, we were in midtown. As part of my helping the country, it's my patriotic duty to shop so when we passed a store, I pulled him into it.

There were different little rooms opening off the main enclosed plaza, each with its own theme. One carried Christmas ornaments, another Halloween decor. Rob and I were fascinated by a demonstration in the Christmas section of an automatic cookie press that created several intricate and 3-D cookies, then baked them on trays beneath the press. I wanted to explore more of the shop but Rob wanted to watch them make cookies, so I wandered away.

The other rooms of the store were less brightly lit as they were away from the windows and the plaza. I walked through the furniture section, wondering why so many of the sofas were draped in sheets. I passed into another room that was filled with bunk beds, each heaped in towels and sheets.

As I turned around to leave the area, someone grabbed me from one of the bunks and another hand reached for me from a top bunk across the row. I looked around and realized all the bunks were occupied by people, covered by the sheets and towels. There were no other shoppers or sales clerks and I couldn't scream. Suddenly, another woman came up to me and pulled me away, telling me that this area was used at night by the homeless men after the attack and I needed to leave before they locked the doors. We raced through an airlock before it shut, and then another one a bit further down. It wasn't a store any longer but a hospital. As we ran through the women's ward, where an apparent food fight had left lettuce all over the floor, I lost contact with the woman who'd been leading me. I hoped I was heading the right way to return to Rob.

All this between the time the alarm went off at 5:20 for Rob and when mine sounded at 6. You could say I've had a busy morning.