I woke up this morning with my neck covered in tiny little hickeys. It seems the underside of my beard looks like the sparse belly foliage of a mother cat. So after tossing the little neck sucker and surveying the damage in the mirror I went to the internet to research a solution to my nocturnal zombie kitten's cravings. They suggested filing the kitten's teeth down with a nail file and letting it suckle on my teat. It seems that after a week of having a kitten in the house most adults (male or female) will  automatically lactate enough to satiate a kitten. Who knew? Hell, it was worth a try.
   I couldn't find a nail file but I did have a piece of 80 grit sandpaper that did the trick. After about 20 minutes of struggle those little fangs were now non-offending nubs. Once he latched onto my nipple it wasn't altogether unpleasant. I'm a little chaffed, but maybe I can get some sleep tonight. I'm four sits into bow season and if I can get some shut eye, I'll make a morning stand. So far I've only gone out in the afternoon. I've seen bucks, but no shooters and nothing close. The past two nights have been busts. Nothing. One porcupine and one black squirrel were all I saw.
   Last night Cheeky and I watched SAVING PRIVATE RYAN. I've never been able to get through that film. I think WWII was shorter. But Cheeky seemed to really enjoy it. Every bullet whizzing by, crashing into Hollywood bone and flesh elicited a more excited response from the kitten. He flipped, chased his tail, danced on his back feet, licked his little asshole and got as close to the screen as he could. Tonight I made chili and we're gonna watch HOMELAND. As I write this he crawls under my sweatshirt. Oh Ok.