Today is Mommy's birthday, but I do not know how old she is. She tells me not to worry, that she's a young mommy and won't die soon, but I still would like to know. Anyway, I haven't been writing lately which Mommy says is natural in the early stages. She is very smart, my mommy! And probably not that old! Anyway, if I could, I would make myself small like the little grouchie in this picture and get her a cake to show her how much I love her. As it is, I am still too afraid to leave the house. I made it to the window so far. But in my little form, I can go anywhere, even to a cake store where people in aprons would ask me what I wanted. Mommy says there's a very depressing Raymond Carver story about a birthday cake that she will read to me tonight if I want. And I want! Mommy tells the best bedtime stories, usually in very clipped sentences with lots of dramatic hand gestures. I will see if I can leave the house tomorrow! Happy birthday, Mommy!