acts of confinement

Simon likes to lick the walls of my shower. While the sight of him on his hind legs, front paws splayed across my tile wall, licking small drops of water has never really stop looking a bit odd, I have grown accustomed to it. I've also learned to pull back the shower curtain and check for the little guy before closing the door in an effort to keep my dog from the trashcan. This weekend in my haste to get out of the house I left out that crucial step.
And that's how Simon's week long strike ended.
After I returned home to to hear his cries of imprisonment I let him out, covered him in apologies and chin scratches and left again. He was apparently so happy to have been set free that he went on a stealing binge.

I think one of my neighbors is bathing outside again.
You just know when you come home to this that there's good stuff waiting inside.

A friend recently asked me if there was a mechanic in my 'hood. No, there's just a rag fetishist.

It's nice that Simon brought the hair AND the hat that went over it. Anyone missing some DNA?

A dirty, red rag...

and look - it has a twin.

A forest green jacket. What you can't tell from this photo is that the jacket felt like it had been soaked in oil, dried, then spit on. I don't think my floor will ever stop feeling sticky.