“Mr. Producer,” she said, “I’ll do anything to get the part... anything!”

FlickerPiss was housebroken. Minus the occasional “accident” all kittens are prone to now and then, FlickerPiss had no problem remembering where the kitty pan was and what it was for.

This conversation was going nowhere, and I suddenly felt a twinge of fear. Had my father possibly mentioned suicide?

“Why aren't you satisfied with what you are?” said God.