Outside the long grey lid of clouds gusts and spits and sneezes all over the city, again again again.

I went down the waterfront to have coffee with my husband, and also hoped to walk the perimeter of the ballpark, but the nasty weather prevented that, and we loitered in the bookstore.

We ended up in the cheap romance and sci-fi/fantasy paperbacks sections, which naturally are side-by-side. I perused the covers and backs of the romance novels, with each one more and more astounded by the hackneyed plots and eye-roll-inducing devices all laid out right there in the poorly-written synopses. It seemed that the male leads in these stories must be either: a) moody, tough, mysterious strangers, b) cops or spies or detectives, or c) cocky assholes with a secret sensitive side. Also in the beginning of the story, the girl and boy must hate one another and then at some point “realize” that OMG IT’S TWOO LUV!!

I don’t know about you, but I have never ended up in love with a person that I initially hated. Usually it works in the opposite direction. That’s because I have this thing called “intuition.” The “conflict” device is what’s known as “filler.”

But I guess there’s a market for this stuff, given the amount of shelf space that it takes up.

In other news: My little cat Sasha is all growed up. He will be four years old in a few weeks. And lately, he seems to have realized that he is no longer a baby. Though he and Simon (who is almost 12 and has always been the dominant cat) normally seem to be best friends, for the past couple of weeks, Sasha has taken to chasing and then attacking Simon, and the attacks are getting a little more serious.

From what I can tell, this takes place around bedtime, when the cats get a little hyper. I don’t know if I should let it play out as Sasha redefines his role, or what. Or if I should just take Simon to bed with me and close the door. He’s getting to be an old man, but he’s my baby and I can’t stand to see him losing in a fight to anyone.