29th

Today I would blindfold Spike, drive him 400 miles (Spike can roll a cigarette blindfolded in a bumpy car, I'm sure), take him out of the car, walk three miles, spin him around 29 times, remove the blindfold, and allow him to gaze upon the strange wilderness that we had entered. He would gaze and gaze until his eyes finally settled on the glorious cabin built for him, rocking chair placed prominently on the porch, pipe stand beside it. Muted typewriter closed up, patiently, inside.

And Spike may very well settle for 204 Krazy Kat dailies.

I sure hope that no one is singing "happy birthday" to you today, Spike, because doing so would be a clear infrigement of copyright laws, and should be punished accordingly.