Don’t let commercials about rich people getting Christmas Cadillacs make you cynical.
These are, in fact, the days of miracle and wonder. And I’ve got 120 cats to back me up.
I’m all for being honest about the clinging blues and the agonizing expectations of The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. I believe in being honest and true and embracing what is rather than what Norman Rockwell would have painted. Our world is imperfect; we are all hurting in our own ways; all is not calm and bright.
But, oh my stars, it is wondrous anyway.
Wherever this madcap month may bring you, the cats and I cherish you, and we charge you: lean into your longings. Light the candles. Pray the novenas. Don’t doubt yourself when you hear the angels sing.
Remember that, even when the Tofurky burns and the cookies crumble, this time of year keeps its promise: the Light has come, and the darkness cannot understand or overcome it. We have been made eternally un-alone, and there’s nothing we can do to turn ourselves unlovable.
Not even bungling the lights so badly a fireball shoots out of the wall. But that’s another story.
And as stories go, November was a novel. Here we go:
Arrived: Wally, Samantha, Clarence, Clara, Wilson, Carley, Lulu, Amy, Tiggs, Nikki, Luna, Sesame
Adopted: Marty, Katie, Gregory, Mackenzie, Froggie, Janelle, Inigo Montoya, Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Kermit, Jinx, Norah, Corvus (pictured in top thumbnail), Etta, Mercury, Ida, Bruce, Justin, Edmond, Gazelle, Moose, Impala, Mallard, Cece, Betty, Daphne
Cleared from Quarantine: Martini, Smokey Joe, Bobby
Promoted to the Bungalow of Bugsy: Koda
Promoted to the Community Room: Moira
Stuff We Learned: You can live your whole (long) life not being known, but fear not: your day will come. If 14-plus-year-old, entirely male Bobby could live approximately 14 years under the alias of a “very young” female cat (we don’t get the math, either), you can bust loose from your convolutions, too.