Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore

I'm back from the Mountains, only to find that Alice, the cat I've been babysitting for the last couple of months, is being confiscated (if that's the right word) by her owner, now a California resident. Collected, maybe. Or claimed? Anyway, look how big she's become:



This is a cat who's peed on my favorite leather duffle-bag and scratched both my sofa and bed to a fare-thee-well (if that's the right word) and yet, truth be told, I'm sad to see her go.

The good news? I've got another couple of weeks to say goodbye.

The tip of the day? Ordinarily cats in small NY apartments (mine is sprawling; I'm just saying) are a bad idea from a catbox-smell-point-of-view. And anybody who knows me can likely predict that I'm not the most obsessive catbox guy. But I am here to tell you, dear reader, that if you live in a small NY apartment (mine makes the one they used to film the opening sequence of "Hannah and her Sisters" look like a rabbit warren; I'm just saying) and you own a cat, you should run, not walk, to your nearest specialty pet store and buy something called "World's Best Cat Litter." Made from granulated corn husks, totally flushable, never smells--an absolutely smashing product.

Public service complete, I leave now for the studio, then for Wall Street. The thinking is to exhibit Lloyd Blankfein one last time then close the painting. Next up, oddly enough, is Gordon Brown. The Prime Minister of Great Britain Gordon Brown. If it needs clarification.

He looks like this:



Sort of. This is, of course, a Francis Bacon self-portrait.

Anyway, the thinking is to exhibit Mr. Brown outside Barklays, then perhaps some other places where Brits congregate. Soho house, maybe?

There is a lovely circularity to exhibiting in front of Barklays, since it is housed in the old Lehman Brothers building. I polled a couple of friends for suggestions on Gordon Brown venues and one wrote back:

How about starting outside Barclays? It's the old Lehman building, the bank has had several tussles with the UK govt, lots of Brits work there and, importantly, LEH's supposed lifesaving deal pre-bankruptcy was nixed by the UK regulator, so LEH staffers had their life savings wiped out.

So you can see the idea is not original to me. But it's a good one.

For the record, this is what The Right Honourable Gordon Brown actually looks like:



And here are the lyrics from Bob Marley's song of the same name:

(Ooh - ooh - ooh - ooh)
(It's Mr Brown)

Mr Brown is a clown who rides to town in a coffin.
(Well, here he comes) In the top is ... three rows on top and two inside there.
Oh, what a confusion! Ooh, yeah, yeah!
What a botheration! Ooh, now, now!

Who is Mr Brown? I wanna know now!
He is nowhere to be found.
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville, coffin runnin' around,
Upsetting, upsetting, upsetting the town,
Asking for Mr Brown.
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville, coffin runnin' around,
upsetting, upsetting, upsetting the town,
Asking for Mr Brown.
I wanna know who (is Mr Brown)?
Is Mr Brown controlled by remote?

O-o-oh, calling duppy conqueror,
I'm the ghost-catcher!
This is your chance, oh big, big Bill bull-bucka,
Take your chance! Prove yourself! Oh, yeah!

Down in parade
People runnin like a masquerade.
The police make a raid,
But the people - oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah - they think it
fade.

What a thing in town
Crows chauffeur-driven around,
Skankin' as if they had never known
The man they call "Mr Brown".

I can tell you where he's from now:
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville, coffin runnin' around,
Upsetting, upsetting, upsetting the town,
Asking for Mr Brown.
From Mandeville to slide-a-ville -

It's unlikely that the Mr. Brown to which Mr. Marley refers is the same man as the current British PM, but to hear Christopher Hitchens tell it in last month's Vanity Fair (and to quote directly from the poster boy of the Birther Movement, one Lou Dobbs), "questions remain."

Me? I have no bone to pick with the guy. I'm just reporting some version of the facts.