That title isn’t exactly accurate. Geriatric throw-downs, plural, endless in plurality, would be more like it.
It would be easier, neater, if we could map all the outcomes before we did any of the intakes. To play nothing by ear. To get caught off-guard exactly 0% of the time. To hedge every bet, tighten every loose end, prevent — at least anticipate — every heartache.
Farmers have their markets. Carnies have their carousels. And we, we have our kittens by the quintillions.
Every cat is unique. Every cat is unrepeatable. But some cats fly their unique flag higher than heaven itself.
Porches and summers go together. One geriatric gent savored eleven summers porchside…but 2017 would be a different summer altogether.
Your editrix interjects: Once again, we are honored to welcome volunteer/adopter/invincibly awesome person Tara to draw us deeper into the mysteries of one Simba Rosenberg… …and this time, as a glamorous bonus, one loopy, lovely Leah. Take it away, Tara. – A.H.
A funny thing can happen when you assume love is lacking. You lose your fight — of course you do — but you win everything else. Including one gigantic, glorious black cat.
You’re not that weak. You don’t really need adorable photos to melt you down to goodness. But come Shameless Linda Fund Season, you bet I’m weak enough to resort to that anyway.
There are songs about winter, spring and fall. But there are songs about summer. And that’s no coincidence.