10.15.03 - 5:03 p.m.

"That seems a little presumptive," I whispered to Dan when I saw all the men in T-shirts bearing the words When Pitt Beat Notre Dame�October 11, 2003�Heinz Field milling around the tailgate party. "I mean, what if they don't win? And these guys don't look like they have extra shirts, so then they'll have to wear them all night. And look stupid."

Turns out I was right. And thus ends my coverage of the Notre Dame/Pitt football game.

I have finally found something that gives me more mental torture than my dad. Sadly, that thing is my job. I realized this Monday morning, after returning from a weekend with another late-night death-defying trip over Ligonier Mountain, and it dawned on me that my stomach felt worse now than it did when I was contemplating my gory, deer-implicated demise on Route 219.

Hm. Five hours later and I forgot I was still writing this thing.

Anyway. It's a sad, sad day when there is something that scares you more than your own family. Or my own family, to be precise.

TC is fine. He has glaucoma, and as Carol puts it, "he is a little demented, which is why I have to stand there and show him the food. He had his matted fur patches shaved off, so he looks funny, but he is more comfortable. " But he's eating and not yakking it up, so his little formerly pudgy self is getting the nutrients it needs. He's like the Subway Jared of cats, only...accidentally bulimic. Poor guy.