It has come to my attention that the verb “flex” has returned to popular parlance. This pleases me — and at least 100 cats I know — immensely.
Cats are the mammalian equivalent of Swiss army knives. They are multi-faceted and fill niches in our world that haters could never begin to imagine.
What do you do with the remnants? More urgently: what becomes of you when you realize you’re a remnant?
Silver linings are of utmost importance right now. Finding the happy and clinging to it is central to self-preservation.
In times of tumult, we need brave, tender leadership. We need a face full of light, a heart full of love, and a strong, sturdy spine that remembers how to dance. We need (so very much) humility. We need someone less like an emperor and more like a Town Councilman.*
Things can get heavy, huh? I’m talking global pandemic blues; tears for our country and world; the continuing crisis shortage of Cherry Zero; and the million million little and large agonies of ordinary life.
Full disclosure: Bucca is my favorite cat at Tabby’s Place. Full disclosure: last weekend I cried at least four times, and two of them were during the Americana Hour on public radio. Full disclosure: I don’t know about “full disclosure.”
Should we purchase a crocheted mermaid tail for one or more of our paraplegic cats? Does Guillermo know that he shares a name with at least one delightfully cool individual? Do we want a revolution, a revelation, or just a vat of vanilla ice cream?