Olive and I both have a serious case of cabin fever. We choose to handle it in different ways. I chase my tail in an endless circle until I pass out from the centrifugal force. Olive chats on the phone endlessly with people living in tropical climates. I pick up dozens of plush toys with my mouth, one at a time, frantically shaking them from side to side until exasperated, I fling them across the living room like they’ve been shot out of a cannon. Some actually leave skid marks on the walls. Olive flips through the TV channels constantly, driving me crazy. The remote experiences such friction on a daily basis, that I’m waiting for it to ignite. I run around the house from room to room trying to escape the crushing boredom. Sometimes I even end up in my crate downstairs in the dark…just standing there…waiting…for something…anything to happen. Olive picks up a magazine to read (usually her favorite, BaRK…or Weird New Jersey), but eventually she feels compelled to eat the nice fibrous pages. We stare at each other. Thinking the same thing. Punxsatawny Phil better be right. Or one of us will eat him.