I noticed that Wanda posted photos of her pussy, I mean kitty, and felt obliged to follow suit with my boy, KiKi. KiKi is the perfect dog; he's too proud to beg, never messes anything up, and sleeps at my feet every night protecting me from uninvited intruders to my bed. At fourteen, he can't get up on the bed anymore and has to be lifted, but that might more be from his gourmet tastes than age. I have never liked dog food, and neither does KiKi. He pretty much eats the same meals I do including most veggies; he likes to top his day off with vanilla ice cream dabbed with some of du Barry's home made strawberry preserves. That doesn't happen very often, because he's on a diet like everyone else on South Beach.

Last night's dinner was postponed, but I had a long talk with my sister, kept the talk only on Newport, and then went for a walk on Lincoln Rd. The weather is unusually warm again this winter; the outdoor cafes are packed with Europeans taking advantage of the weak dollar.