4/14: I lay on my back in the grass in the backyard, gazed at the stars and wondered: How do my fans survive in the four or five week intervals between my diary installments? Do they go back and read old diaries? Scrutinize my photo and try to imagine what I am thinking, feeling at any given moment? It is a mystery to me.

4/15: Ach, tax time again. This year I had, of course, the miserly royalties from J. as well as the income from my epitaph-writing job at a local cemetery. All in all, a mere pittance, at least for a fellow with a lifestyle like mine. After I finished my taxes I donned a top-hat and went down to the Circle, where I doffed my hat to the ladies and sprayed on the men.

4/16: Received a pleasant note from my personal physician, Dr. Juan Pagan, with referral to a therapist, as I had requested. J. is looking into the reputation of the shrink for me. I told him: He must have a beard, and his office setting must be reminiscent of fin-de-siecle Vienna, or I refuse to go.

4/17: Saw Garfield at the gym. God, he's getting fat. I"m almost certain he has an eating disorder.

4/18: The Feline Front and I filled a wheelbarrow full of gardening tools, rolled it down to Fred the Cat-Hater's frontyard, and methodically began digging up all the dainty flowers in his yard. He came running out the door like a goofy cartoon character. When Fred got into the yard I whistled, and down swooped Bad Boy Starling, who deposited a poop-bomb upon Fred's head. Hahahahahahaha!

4/19: A night alone, with no female companionship. Whither Evangelina, Louise, Ms. O, Nena? I pondered my solitude for a moment, then watched skin flicks on cable. Special Note from Rocky: I have learned that my feline friend Diavolo passed away last month at his home in Ferentino, Italy. The world has rarely known such a fierce and righteous fellow. J. and I wish to extend our condolences to Paola Bellusci of Chicago and Ugo and Giuliana Bellusci of Ferentino.