Wait. Stop the presses!

It may not be the death of newspapers. Check this out. Just make your own here.

Hey newshounds...

My dad suggested the PBS Frontline special tonight called "News War: What's Happening to the News."

Today was part III of a four-part investigation. If you have time, check out the Web site here.

Scary stuff.

Propel me to the treadmill...

I had my first taste of Propel Fitness Water today during my workout at the fantastic I-actually-want-to-exercise-just-so-I-can-be-there downtown Detroit YMCA. The berry-flavored drink was delicious. But did I need it?

I realized only after I paid the buck-twenty-five (gasp!) that the water was not only flavored but calorie-ridden. My 16-ounce bottle contained about 25 calories. Worth the extra 2.5 minutes on the grueling treadmill? I think not. It was yummy, but not that yummy. I'll save the bottle in my gym bag and fill it with tap water.

By the way, please note that I provided a link above to a Wikepedia entry for Propel Fitness Water. Can you believe there's a dedicated entry for it? To read more about Wikipedia and how stuff sometimes get booted from the online reader-driven encyclopedia, click here.

Discover the D vol. 1, chapter 1

So I've been perusing a book on the history of Detroit, and it's been fascinating.

Did you know that in 1608, Antoine Laumet de la Mothe Cadillac, a businessmen and former French commander, wanted to establish an outpost along the entrance to the western Great Lakes? He petitioned Louis XIV in Paris to reconsider western exploration and suggested a fort on le detroit -- "the strait" in French -- an 80-mile waterway linking Lake Erie and Lake Huron.

That stretch of water today is known as the Detroit River, Lake St. Clair and the St. Clair River.

Bonus tidbit: The Detroit River has 21 islands, the largest of which is 10-square-mile Grosse Ile.

Some of the other islands include Belle Isle, Bois Blanc, Horse, Fox, Grassy, Hickory, Calf, Mud, Stony, Sugar, Swan and Zug. Several of them have no inhabitants.

If I had to choose one to live on, I'd go with 29-acre Sugar Island. It just sounds good. But I'd be the only islander -- just me and the sugar maple trees.



Source: The Detroit Almanac: 300 years of life in the Motor City.

In case you were wondering...

...That big lock was from the Cass Cafe, a late-night hangout by Wayne State University and the DIA. The outside looks much like that big lock -- forbidding -- especially at night.

But the inside is artsy, mellow and cool.

The ambiance, thank goodness, turned out to be nothing like that scary lock.

Cass Cafe was a great place to drink some wine, dip into some hummus and talk about the movie.

The Detroit Film Theater rocks.

Well, we took advantage of our Detroit Institute of Arts membership today to see a film (for a discount) at the adjoining Detroit Film Theater. The theater, part of the 1927 DIA building, itself is awesome. It's kind of old-school where someone comes out on the stage and announces the film. At the end of the show, people actually applaud.

We saw a terrific, moving film called Iraq in Fragments. So many things we see about the war today are from the American perspective, especially what's on the nightly news or in the papers. This film takes you inside Iraq and the everyday lives of its people.

From the synopsis:
An opus in three parts, Iraq In Fragments offers a series of intimate, passionately-felt portraits: A fatherless 11-year-old is apprenticed to the domineering owner of a Baghdad garage; Sadr followers in two Shiite cities rally for regional elections while enforcing Islamic law at the point of a gun; a family of Kurdish farmers welcomes the US presence, which has allowed them a measure of freedom previously denied.

Oh my.

I just had to take a photo of this because it was the biggest bathroom lock I've ever seen.

I took one picture without my hand, but it needed my hand to give it context. And that was a risky thing for me to do for you readers, considering I flashed several pictures while I was inside a bathroom stall. People could have really thought that was weird.

Anyway, it actually made me jump when I saw it.

Late night club in the D.

Esko Lounge.

We were only at this new dance club for a few minutes toward the end of another night in the D, but I'm sure we'll return.

Inside a real chili joint.

I love you, Cincinnati readers, but I have to tell you about a real chili joint. Heck, this is where it all really started. We invented coney dogs and practically made chili famous.

Last night, we visited Lafayette Coney Island (see below), which bills itself as one of Detroit's longest-running family-owned businesses. It has been operating at the same downtown location, dishing up heaping spoonfuls of thick, meaty chili atop juicy hot dogs slathered in mustard and onion, for nearly a century.

Walk in here at 2 a.m. and you'll see flashes of white-aproned servers belting out orders and whisking armfuls -- literally -- of yummy dogs to your table in seconds. (They pile about 10 plated hot dogs side-by-side along the crook of their arms to deliver the speediest service to hungry customers.)

Lafayette (not to be confused with rival neighbor American Coney Island) is open all day, every day. These people are serious about their coneys.

The story behind the rival restaurants is fascinating enough to merit a visit. Wikipedia says:

The first Coney Island was started by two Greek brothers (in 1917) who then got into an argument quite soon after, and split their restaurant into two parts, the present day American and Lafayette Coney Islands which are next door to each other, and who to this day argue about which is the "original."

I hate to throw down the gauntlet, people, but come here and try "one with everything" -- a real coney dog.

Could you ever get mad at this face?

Piggy-backing on Gina's post about cats and the stuff we put up with for them, let me tell you that I spent about 45 minutes after work today (on my birthday) trying to coax Addy out of the basement ceiling. He found a way to scale the boxes stored in the closet and wiggle into a wee little opening that leads into the actual ceiling.

My poor mom was frantically trying to coax him out with the coveted "treats" when we arrived home from work.

Il n'etait pas necessaire, as the French would say. He was quite happy up there. Still, I was freaked out enough to try to scale the boxes myself and prod him out with a stick so he wouldn't find out how to really burrow into the guts of the house.

Yes, there were a few anxious moments and a bit of sputtering. But how could I get mad at that little face?

(He's snoring as I write this, by the way. I love when he snores.)

Lovely day.

Just wait 'til y'all see all the great pix I take of our new city digs with this snazzy birthday gift from Patrick. I was dying for one of my own after I got addicted to the one the Enquirer loaned me for work. I dreaded giving it back.

But I was also thrilled with the "gift" from my mum -- a coupon for a girls' day of shopping. And as usual, my daddio wrote me a check to equal my age (and 22 cents for the date of my birthday!) I can't wait until I'm 100. Ha ha.

Really, it was pretty nice spending my birthday with my family. It's been a long time. My folks used to come to Cincinnati the weekend of my birthday, but there's something about sharing the actual day with your family. I've missed that.

HappyHappyHappyHappy Day.

Hmm. A birthday box. Any guesses as to what it holds? Thirty-three pints of cherry cordial ice-cream? Thirty-three plane tickets to Paris? Thirty-three new cooking magazines? Thirty-three new pairs of strappy sandals for spring?

Whatever it is, it's gotta be good. It came in a box!

Yum!

Today is Paczki Day! I read in the News that I would have to walk for 2 hours or run for 35-40 minutes or so to work off one paczek (don't call it a jelly doughnut).

Well, isn't it fortuitous that we just joined that outstanding Y? Yippeeee! Paczki, here I come!

When I was kid, no one used the words "Fat Tuesday," and the phrase offended me when I first learned of it. I thought of the day before Ash Wednesday in much more joyous terms. It was always -- and still is -- Paczki Day. Boxes of them were always brought to my little Catholic school for the yummy, indulgent celebration before the beginning of Lent. (Lent, of course, is the 40-plus days of fasting, etc. before Easter.)

Just so those of you non-poles know, Paczki is the plural for paczek. These lovely creations are essentially deep-fried dough filled with different sorts of fruit filling, like raspberry, lemon, blueberry, etc.

The ones we bought were raspberry-filled. And they were delish.

From Wikipedia:

Polish immigrants have popularized this type of preserve-filled doughnut in some parts of the United States, especially in Hamtramck, an enclave of Detroit. Hamtramck is known to be the only U.S. city to organize an annual Paczki-Day (Fat Tuesday) Parade, and lines can be seen up to 24 hours before the deep-fried delights go on sale at the numerous local bakeries. Many bars in town open early in the morning, and provide free entertainment, a party atmosphere, and even Paczki-clad mascots. The Paczki-Day celebration in this town is even larger than many areas have for St. Patrick's Day.

Whoo hoo!

I'm tellin' ya. There's something about 222.


Today I learned that Stephen Colbert and I share a day -- Feb 22. I'm blessed. (For Stephen, it's the day people should pray for him. For me, it's my birthday.)


That terrific number has been popping up all over the place lately. It started with the new jobs. When I learned when we were interviewing that the prefix to the new place of employment's phone number was 222, I was pretty sure we were making the right decision. Just to be sure, I started running 2.22 miles on the treadmill or burning 222 calories. Sometimes, I would put $22.22 in the gas tank.

And now Stephen Colbert!

Workin' it!

I luvluvluvluv the new YMCA in downtown Detroit. We were torn between the new Dearborn fitness facility by our house and the flashy new Y by work. Once we toured the Y, we were hooked.

There are rows and rows and rows of shiny treadmills, sparkly weight-lifting machines, glistening lockers, glimmering exercise balls ... well, you get the idea. The Y also has two swimming pools, two basketball courts, an elevated running track, ballet studio, racquetball courts and studios for classes with (get ready for it) endless G5s. Oh, and there's a climbing wall.

The view overlooks Broadway Street and is just a stone's throw from the Detroit Opera House.

Seriously, if you're bored, click here and scroll around the rooms.

Oranges

Donald Sultan

I just plain ol' enjoyed this one. It made me happy. I believe it's called "Oranges on a Branch."

A lovely Monet...

As I mentioned previously, 90 percent of the DIA is closed for renovations. This is part of a magnificent "greatest hits" collection that kept us busy for hours.

The great hall of the DIA

Patrick and I became members of the DIA during our visit. We were members at the Cincinnati Art Museum and really found it worthwhile.

I'll admit that after purchasing the membership, we learned that 90 percent of the DIA is closed for remodeling until November, but we're still excited. We'll have four free tickets to all exhibits including the upcoming Ansel Adams exhibit, as well as discounts to lectures, discounts to films at the Detroit Film Theater and more. Like in Cincinnati, they have special Friday night gatherings. A recent jazz show featured Freddy Cole, the brother of Nat King Cole.

There are a zillion other benefits. I can't wait to use them.

Sculpture

Gamin by Augusta Savage, 1930

Patrick and I had an interesting discussion about this sculpture. "Gamin" in French kind of means "rascal." It looks to me as though this boy is sad, having been scolded. Thoughts?

DIA -- Detroit Is Awesome?!!

To top off our weekend in the D, we spent the morning gazing at Monets, Van Goghs, Andy Warhols and more at the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) and then became members. There's much to tell about this and everything we saw, but I've got to save posts for later in the week when I'll have nothing more exciting to discuss than the three to four crazy calls I get each day at work.

Oh, and since Patrick was so awesome to craft this fab get-away, I agreed to eat at the Hockeytown Cafe sports bar for lunch. Hockey jerseys on the walls, replicas of the Stanley Cup, Red Wings-imprinted carpets. The boy was probably in heaven. I'm starting to think the whole ploy to "get away" to the D was really so he could finally drag me to Hockeytown Cafe. If so, it was quite worth it.

And there's more. We took a quick detour to peek at the architecture of the lobby of the Fox Theater and then toured the downtown YMCA, which I am in love with. We're torn between the downtown Y and extremely convenient Dearborn fitness facility with its endless rows of parking spots. Oh, downtown parking. Why must you be so fickle?

Ah, so content!

Inside Ferry Street

Dorothy, you're not in Kansas, but this is Detroit!

Could this inn really be in the middle of Detroit? Why yes, it is. And what a wonderful area, too. In fact, we were mere steps from the Detroit Institute of Arts. (More on that later.)

The Inn on Ferry Street was a gem. We stayed in the John R. Carriage House, originally built in 1892, and one of several historic homes that made up the inn.

Living with my folks has been much smoother than I imagined, and it has been a genuine pleasure to hang out with them and have so much time to chat. But I think Patrick and I needed some "us" time. The Inn on Ferry Street was the perfect way to spend that time. (See our room above and the lobby to the house below.)

Our stay ended with a sprawling breakfast (homemade waffles, blueberries, strawberries, pound cake, scrambled eggs, melon, yogurt, etc.) in the main house -- the Scott House -- built in 1886. John Scott, according to the brochure, was one of Detroit's most prominent architects.

Oh, and they actually had Starbucks coffee in the room. A terrific kick start before our trek to the DIA.

Some learnin', too.

Patrick at the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit. We visited here after checking in at the terrific Ferry Street Inn. (That started wonderfully, by the way, with champagne, fresh roses and a lovely box of Godiva Chocolates. Oh, romance!)

At the MOCAD, we toured the other half of the "Shrinking Cities" exhibit that we saw recently at the Cranbrook. The museum itself was a piece of art. If I hadn't seen a picture before, I'm pretty sure I would've thought it was an abandoned building and driven right past it.

The new museum, which had its first exhibit in the fall of '06, is housed in a former auto dealership. The graffiti on the walls outside is part of the art. One of the artists who showed work as part of the inaugural installation, Barry McGee, also did the building facade. It was all very cool and quite close to our inn.

Afterward, we capped the night at Atlas Global Bistro, a restaurant down the street on Woodward Ave. Yum. Yum. Yum. Patrick had an outstanding meat-falling-off-the-bone lamb shank (Braised Colorado Lamb in Pomegranate Reduction with Fried Garlic Chips, Carrot Spatzle and Tied Bean Bundles). I had a delish blonde ravioli filled with goat cheese (Large Ravioli with Roasted Balsamic Figs, Pearl Onions, Fennel, on Hazelnut Brown Butter and Artichoke Crisps). Even my salad was a knock-out success (Mixed Greens with Celery Root Ribbons, Toasted Hazelnuts, Petite Basque Cheese Twirl, Sliced Pear, and Grand Marnier Vinaigrette).

For libations, Patrick had the two-hearted ale (Bell's) and I had a yummy Mas Borras pinot noir. I like the description of berries and cocoa. As for the Atlas, I cannot wait to go back.

Patrick would probably like to return just so he could tell off the fur-coated lady who tried to tell him off because his shuttle didn't pick her up. At least he said, "I don't even work here, lady." She even seemed kind of aggravated at that. Ha!

Here she comes...

Voila! Here is Valentine's Day present extravaganza part deux. Patrick and I are going to stay the night at the Inn on Ferry Street, a bed and breakfast in (drum roll!) downtown Detroit.

Anyone who knows us will remember that one of our first out of town trips was to a B&B in Harlem, so this is nothin'!

Actually, I'm really excited. The inn is made up of a gorgeous row of homes on historic Ferry Street in a really cool part of Detroit. It's located quite close to the Detroit Institute of Arts and the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit, as well as Wayne State University. We have reservations at the Atlas Global Bistro. Will update tomorrow after our night in the D.

Lovely day

Just the beginning of the Valentine's Day extravaganza, Patrick says.

Spice of life.

Life would be pretty boring if I didn't occasionally find a toy mouse in my shoe. Thanks for adding some spice, Clarky.

Halleluia!

Dixie Chicks win big at the Grammys: Song of the Year, Best Country Album and Album of the Year.

As the saying goes: Talk is cheap. Free speech isn't!

My first mobile blog! Whoo hoo.

Downtown D!

Who knew Fridays could be so much fun?!

For years, Patrick worked a night shift. He now works days Monday through Thursday and gets off at 10 p.m. on Friday. It may seem late, but it's been a wonderful change. I can't believe I've been deprived of Friday night outings for most of our past ten years.

This week, we took advantage of downtown Detroit's Winter Blast event, which includes bands, a snow slide, discounts at a bunch of restaurants and more.

Our first stop was Small Plates, a tapas-style restaurant across from the Detroit Opera House where all the food is served in mini portions. I had a petite tenderloin with gorgonzola cream sauce (yum!) while Patrick had some baby crab cakes. We split some lettuce wraps.

I also downed a Banfi Chianti Classico Riserva, which was fruity and smooth, if just a teeny bit dry. Bonus: We got a 15 percent discount for our meal with a Winter Blast coupon.


Afterward, we zipped next door to Detroit Beer Company.

What joy! Turns out that pints of beer are just $2 after 10 p.m. I had a pumpkin spice beer but coveted Patrick's delicious India Pale Ale. (I like to be adventurous, but sometimes "tried and true" is where it's at!)

Side note: We met a strange little Canadian fellow named Wade who was silly-drunk. After chatting with us about hockey and Canada, he practically forced me off my seat and hassled me to go talk to his friend/love interest, Monica. I did, mostly because he was spitting a bit when he talked and I didn't mind getting away.

Well, Monica was quite obliterated, too, but explained the merits of moving from the suburbs to downtown Detroit. At one point, she asked me how I knew Wade, and I said, "I don't. He forced me off my chair and made me come talk to you."

Wide-eyed, she shook her head and slurred, "That's bad!" Well, I soon left Monica, and Wade soon left Patrick. He returned later and tried for about eight minutes to pay his tab, never getting the attention of a waitress. During that time, drunken Monica bolted out the door and Wade said, "I'm a good boy (i.e. I usually pay my tab), but I have to watch over her."

And he dashed, too.

I watched in awe as the waitress (who had seen me talking to Monica) noticed they split without paying. There was a flurry of action to run after them, but they were gone. I waited for the waitress to come over and say we owed $26 for our friends who split without paying. Thankfully, it never happened.

What a night! We may return to Winter Blast today. Hopefully, Wade and Monica will be too hung over to join us.

Winterblast!

It's damn cold here, but thing is: there's a lot to do. So why complain?! Detroit's got a ton of stuff planned this weekend to bring people downtown.

Check it out here.

Perks.

We negotiated a raise with our new jobs, a little more vacation, blah blah, but I didn't realize one of the best perks would be the home-cooked meals I enjoy almost every night. Livin' with the folks has its perks.

Where on earth is colder than here? Mongolia. Where else?!

A day ago, I posted about how it increasingly seems like we live in Antarctica or Iceland because of the frigid temperatures here. (The thermometer on the Vue registered 4 degrees this morning.)

Well, my brother pointed out that Iceland actually has a milder climate than places of similar latitude. And I knew (from a recent story I wrote on scientists studying bugs in Antarctica) that it's summer in Antarctica and the area might be experiencing some of its warmer temps now. So I will amend my post.

It seems like we suddenly live in Ulan Bator, Mongolia (above) or Yakutsk, Russia.

From wikepedia:

Ulan Bator is the coldest national capital in the world, with an average annual temperature of 29.7°F.

Yakutsk is one of the coldest cities on earth, with January temperatures averaging -45°F.

(I love learning new stuff because of this silly blog.)

"A little corner of Oz in Detroit"

Sunday was even colder than Saturday, but we decided to take a drive to Bloomfield Hills to the Cranbrook Art Museum to peek at the exhibit on "Shrinking Cities." I say "peek" because it's an extensive exhibit that runs through April, spans two museums and includes films, lectures, music, etc.

We were fascinated by the topic, an examination of the trend of shrinking urban centers like Detroit (and Cincinnati and the Manchester/Liverpool region of Britain and Halle/Leipzig in Germany).

From the release:

Since the beginning of the industrial age approximately 200 years ago, populations, economies, cities, and prosperity have been growing nearly continuously, and mostly at a rapid pace ... This historic epoch is drawing to a close. The populations of old industrial nations such as Italy, Germany, Japan, and Russia are beginning to grow smaller, and the process of urbanization has reached its zenith and is declining. Between 1950 and 2000, more than 350 large cities across the globe, including over 60 in the United States, lost a significant share of their inhabitants and economic activity. Shrinkage leads, as expansion once did, to fundamental shocks, which result in societal reorientation through changes in visions, modes of action, and methods.

Patrick called some of the graphs and charts "a graphic artist's dream." I was fascinated by the pictures of hollowed-out cities worldwide.

The whole exhibit was super interesting, and I'm sure we'll attend some of the lectures at the sister exhibit by the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit.


I was especially interested in a section on Tyree Guyton, an artist who transformed abandoned, dilapidated houses in Detroit into works of art (depending on what you call art) in what became known as the Heidelberg Project.




I'm thoroughly fascinated by Guyton's story, particularly the war he got into with former Mayor Coleman Young, who allegedly ordered some of the decked-out houses demolished with just 15 minutes of warning. They waged battle for years.

Descriptions of Guyton's work say he transformed a hard-knocks, frightening street into a place of hope that attracted people from far and wide. I don't know if I'd want Guyton's polka dot house next to mine, but I love this story on the transforming power of art. (For more on Guyton, read here.)

I also love that the MOCAD and Cranbrook exhibits intend to examine not only the disastrous effects of depopulation, but also ways that the cities that be reclaimed and rejuvenated.

Hey, you could certainly say it happened on Heidelberg Street.

No better way to get warm than...

So it was 9 degrees, I believe, on Saturday. Because of the cold, we didn't leave the house until about 9 p.m.

We only did so after finally deciding we should crawl out from under the covers and see if life still exists in Antarctica or Iceland or wherever it is we now seem to live.

I wondered why the heck we even bothered as we walked toward the car and the frigid Michigan wind smacked against my face, making me feel like a thousand prickly shards of glass were lodged in my cheeks.

Well, it was all quite worth it after we found ourselves at a lovely Vietnamese restaurant called Annam just a mile or so from my folks' house.


If there's a better way to warm yourself than by sipping a glass of Trimbach Gewurztraminer along with a steaming bowl of Vietnamese-style chicken curry, I'd like to know it. (Please submit your ideas below.) I was warmed in a matter of minutes by the spicy food and wine and the soft buttercup glow of Annam's walls that seemed the epitome of Feng Shui against the backdrop of tiny bamboo plants dotting each table. During dinner I realized we have so many cool new places to explore that my mind was racing, my foot was tapping and my cheeks were flushed with excitement. (That, and I was tipsy.)

So take that, Jack Frost! Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no temperature cold enough...

For you Cincinnatians, we used to love our Trimbach Gewurtz at Quarter Bistro. We'd get a half bottle along with some appetizers, like the sea scallops or tomato basil bisque soup. Mmmm. It may not be as chilly there, but it would be a lovely warm-up for you.

And heck, pretend you're in Michigan and it'll likely taste all the better.

Opa!

After a long, hard day's work, Patrick and I were looking for somewhere downtown that was open late where we could get a quick bite. We had to look no further than Greektown, where there are restaurants and pastry shops aplenty open 'til the wee hours.

We ended up at Pegasus Taverna at nearly midnight. (It was open 'til 3 a.m.!) We passed on the lamb, etc. for appetizers. I had some hummus with warm pita bread while Patrick had Keftethakia, spiced meatballs, and grilled shrimp cocktail. I polished off my hummus (and some of the shrimp) with a glass of Notios Peloponnese, a fruity red Greek wine with hints of... I'll say cherry and blackberry.

I admit that Greektown is an easy answer for places to go in downtown Detroit, but we're just learning our way around, so why not?! And it was worth it, particularly after we noticed the gleaming lights of the Astoria Bakery beckoning us as we headed back to the car around 1 a.m.

Yes, my good friends, it was open. We could not resist a chocolate-dipped chocolate muffin (for him) and a chocolate cigar, which I think is a chocolate dipped cannoli (pour moi).




So come visit the D -- day or night -- and we'll find you good food, good wine and all the chocolate you dare to eat at 1 a.m.

Meow!

Women are funny, aren't they? Patrick, the parents and I saw a play last weekend called the Women. The story centered on Mary Haines, a wealthy woman whose husband is fooling around with a shop girl named Crystal.

From Wikipedia:
The play is an acidic commentary on the pampered lives and power struggles of various wealthy Manhattan socialites and up-and-comers and the gossip that propels and damages their relationships. While men frequently are the subject of their lively discussions and play an important role in the action on-stage, they are strictly characters mentioned but never seen.

The play was acted entirely by women -- dozens of them, it seemed. And it was hilarious -- and frightening -- to see how they continuously back-stabbed each other. I loved the play, but isn't that just like women in a lot of cases? Catty.

Well, sure enough we had one of those catty types right in front of us. My mom and I had a debate during intermission about where the refreshments were -- in the front or the back of the theater. Well, my mom said they were positively in the back of the house even though the whole crowd was moving toward the front. She knew, she said, because she'd been there. Well, she was wrong. (So what, I say. My mom can say whatever she wants, damn it.)

I'm sore because some biddy in front of us had the nerve to whip around and say, "Refreshments are in the front, okay?" And then walked off.

Phew. Anybody who knows me knows you shouldn't mess with the family...or Gina. I'm kind of like one of the Corleones. ("Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family again. Ever.")

So I spent the rest of that intermission and the next intermission and the end of the play hiding halfway behind my playbook, pretending like I was talking about the biddy and giggling whenever she got up.

Meow.