And I think I may have just made a huge mistake.

Calliope's Kitty Buffet is not complete. She has the kitty-milk, the fresh cold water, the crunchy bits. But no Puree of Poultry or Bunny Mousse. There is a bowl missing, and she's quite upset about that. It's missing, of course, because I never got to the store yesterday, and figured it would be OK.

I mean, I'd hate to see her stuff herself and then get car-sick.

But she doesn't know that, so she's giving me a good case of the guilts. How could I be so selfish and uncaring as to leave that bowl empty when she's standing there, wan and faint from lack of food. Why, she might starve to death as I sit here, oblivious to all but my laptop, and then I'd be sorry, wouldn't I?

Calliope gives good guilt.

Add to that the fact that I know where she's about to go, for two whole weeks, and she doesn't, and it will go some way to explaining why I decided to do something. I tried brushing, and petting, and kitty-soccer and kitty-chase-the-dangly-bits-on-some-bendy-wire. None of it held her attention for long.

Nope, she's wanting some food. Some GOOD food, if you don't mind.

Now, if Calliope was a normal cat, I'd open a tin of tuna and be done with it.

Calliope is not, however, a normal cat.

She doesn't like tuna. This is probably because it gives her the runs, so it's just as well.

So I gave her tablespoon of paté de foie gras. Actually, it's not really foie gras, it's paté de foie de canard. Duck, not goose. With madeira. I keep it on hand for those last minute Guess Who's Coming for Cocktails? Situations.

I didn't think she'd actually like it.

Silly me.

Sucked it right down, she did. At least I have a cat with good taste. The good thing about it is that it's really rich. About a tablespoon and a half was all that she could really handle.

Guess what I'm having for dinner?

Well, I'm just about ready to go.

I need to go purchase some suitcases. Easy stuff, or it will be once today's strike stops and I can hop on the metro.

After that, it's packing the suitcases. Again, fairly easy. We are, after all, heading to the good old US of A. If I forget something, it's no problem. None of that "I wonder if they use tampons and, if so, just what their definition of a tampon is" type stuff. And I plan to buy things there, so that cuts down on a lot. Nothing extravagant, mind you. Bras, panties, pantyhose (and no one, no one, makes pantyhose like the Americans. Trust me.). A pair of Levis. Maybe some tees and tanks from Gap or Old Navy or where ever it's good to buy such things these days.

Basics, in other words. All of which I won't need to pack.

Besides, I did extravagant yesterday.

I got a dress to wear to my brother's wedding. Ice blue, with just enough diamante to make it interesting, and suitable for day and night with the addition of the matching floaty silk chiffon wrap. Although I may not wear it to the reception.

I may wear my new Armani tuxedo suit.

Yep, you read that right. Armani. The evening-wear tuxedo that I've been searching for for years. And it fits. It fits like my good buddy Giorio stopped by and ran it up just for me because he's my bestest friend in the whole wide world.

I am in love.

And it's Emporio Armani, not the couture, so it was very attractively priced. And the way it fits, you would think it was hand made just for me, as I may have mentioned above. You wouldn't know I had a stomach, either. And I splurged on a gratuitous, yet divinely fitted black top with beading on the upper arms. Versatile, and no visible belly.

Deal of the century, both items.

I may never shop anywhere else.

And I already have the kick-ass, uber-pointy, ultra beaded shoes I bought last week so I'd at least have something special to wear if all else failed.

I'm packing my little black dress and some interesting accessories, and I'll decide what gets worn when once I get there.

Point me to that plane, Ladies and Gentlemen. I am ready to go.

Well, Calliope's driver has come and gone.

She recognized him right away, and bolted for the bedroom. I didn't manage to close the door fast enough. She didn't make too much fuss when I pulled her from under the bed, though. She doesn't like going, but she doesn't mind it as much as I might expect. They must treat her well.

Which makes me feel a lot better, especially since I've no choice. Two weeks is too long by herself, so I can't really have some one come and feed her. I tried it once, and she got too terribly lonely.

I'll miss the little bitch, though. You can count on that.

Tomorrow morning, we're out of here for two weeks.

First to witness the spectacle and drama that will be my brother's wedding, then south to Graceland to visit Elvis' family.

I may update later on today, depending on how the packing and other last minute tasks go. Something pretty humorous happened yesterday, and I'd like to get it down while it's still fresh. I haven't decided whether or not to bring my laptop along, so I don't know how often I'll be updating while I'm gone, or if I will at all. I am taking my journada and keyboard, so I will be writing.

If I'm not able to update, I'll be missing Diaryland and all who sail her.

See ya whenever, and take care.