I am dealing with such beautiful mess.
My studio is on the ground floor of the house, and now that the summer is here (although admittedly half-arsed here in London) I often keep the French doors open to the garden. It's a quiet residential stretch of greenery, with old trees and a hedgehog living under a holly shrub, often visited by squirrels, wood pigeons and an occasional woodpecker. And even though I am no hippy nor a Snow White, visits from animals bring me more joy than from humans.
A few weeks ago a small black cat started popping in to the room. Affectionate, purry and playful, and more than eager to help me out with my tuna steak dinner. We spent a few evenings snuggled up on a couch, nursing my hangovers and watching ANTM.
One morning, though, we found the little dear waiting outside the door to be let in, only she wasn't alone. She had brought a tiny shaky blue-eyed baby kitten along. A few hours later it was joined by a sibling. They could barely walk. Their tails were triangular and their head made up for half their body length. The little black furballs were adorable to the point of crying. We were adopted by a feline family!
Thing is, I never allowed myself to have a cat. Although I'm fascinated by the feline monsters I simply travel too much right now to have a decent relationship with an animal. But I guess she chose us, so we had to take it as a compliment and deal with it. I decided against calling up a cat shelter, the kittens were now my little blue-eyed superstars and too good for a depressing amonia-reeking cage kingdom that most shelters are. My studio was converted into a kitten nursery - we hacked a hole in the french doors and installed a catflap. Litter tray and food bowls replaced piles of my shoes, and there I was being retardedly blissed out on my unplanned parenthood of sorts.
Within days, however, we had to leave for Berlin. A week later we came back to a lovely thankyou present in the middle of my studio (predictably spoilered to help you keep your lunch in):
The little rascals were twice the size (gosh, they grow by the hour!), ready to move to solid foods, wrestling each other up the curtains and being the most beautiful creatures I've laid my hands upon. Now I'm no mother material, but it made me beam with pride to witness their first poop as much as their first purr...
Kung-fu kitten?
In a few weeks I'll need to find home for the little ones, so consider this journal entry as an ad.
I just can't look after a pride of cats long-term - I have a sneaking suspicion that the little slut has been knocked up again and is displaying evidence of brand new kitty-buns in her furry oven, so to speak. Hex on irresponsible owners who can't be arsed to neuter their cats and just chuck them out when they get pregnant!
panic
No, REALLY! I can't look after a bunch of cats! I was planning to stay out of this scenario at least until I'm 50 years old! Save them or I will give them ridiculous names! I already call this girl 'Teddy Bear'!!!
My life has indeed been full of interesting endeavours and acquaintances, cats aside even. Recently I shared fish'n'chips with legendary New York photographer Leee Black Childers who is one of the most charismatic darlings in mascara I've ever met.
After seeing the epic Chapman Brothers exhibition Fucking Hell (runs til 12 July if you're in London), he indulged me for hours with amazing stories from the Factory days, anecdotes about my idols - Warhol Superstars, his best pal Jayne County, the curse of the MainMan Records... Boys and girls, I could tell you stuff about the likes of David Bowie that'd make your hair curl. But now I have to run downstairs and have a punching match with my fabulous kitties. I'm gonna finish this with a photo of my eternal crush Candy Darling (which Leee kindly signed for me). Leee took it at Max's Kansas City, when at the very end of the night the proprietor would start playing Sometimes It's Hard to be a Woman by Tammy Wynette. It was a sign for the dragqueens to leg it while the flattering red light was still on, because once the song was over the harsh white light would come on, exposing laddered tights, disheveled wigs - and - horror of horrors - a stubble cracking through the makeup! This image is the White Light shot while Candy covers her face and hisses: "Leee! Don't show my muff!"
Classy 
How are yours?