I They're talking dollars on Charlie Rose. All are white men. I'm a white man. But I don't understand a damn thing they say. Don't care that I don't know. Don't want to know. I just wish they wouldn't embarrass me so -- by being white and all that, I mean. II I had four cats. Now I only have three. So far as I know, my cats never talked about economic theory. But if claws are words, they talked a lot about territory. I let my cats come and go as they choose. One day Tribbie, my favorite, came home a cripple. He often came home the worse for wear, but never before so defeated. It was in his demeanor. "Buck up, guy," I told him. "Hell, it's been four years since you lost your balls You've got no reason to fight. Forget it." But he couldn't. The next morning, he wanted out. I asked him several times if he was really sure he wanted to do this. He stood there staring at the door. I let him out, knowing it would come to no good. Haven't seen him since. Doubt I ever will. Such a stupid thing. Stupid, stupid world. Mike Geary Memphis