End of the Month. They're Out of Sanity.

My sisters are out somewhere in Michigan, looking for somewhere to stash the editor. I am taking care of the ex-teacher's cats. They are very nice, and very black, cats. I feed them, ensure they have water, and clean out their cat boxes.

I also bring in the mail. She gets a lot of teacher-related mail for an ex-teacher. I cannot assume she is retired, because the school district where she worked is moribund. If you ever read the story about Muncie in The Atlantic (How Americans Lost Trust in Our Greatest Institutions, Ron Fournier and Sophie Quinton, 20 April 2012), know that city where my sister taught is in even worse shape. That city was a GM town that was totally abandoned by GM. It has no state university or major hospital to fall back on. And, its most famous building (a high-school basketball court) is down the road to collapse — a road trod by my old middle school — while my sister's ex-employer sits on its collective hands. It is close enough to Indianapolis to function as a bedroom town, like Fishers and Carmel-by-the-Road; but its uppities hate and resist the idea.

Madre's microwave oven burned our yesterday. She bought a new one at Sears, and tried to call me. When I did not respond (telephony is flakey with my phones for reasons), she dragged the box into the house. I wish she did not do that. Anyway, I set up the new microwave oven for her, and dragged the busted one into the garage.

Madre is baby-sitting the editor's cats — one very old and very noisy, the other not quite right for a cat. Let's just say my sister will be cleaning carpets when she gets back.

The title is from a line in the movie Escape from New York, said of the Crazies who live in the sewers. The food they are out of at the end of the month is people.