We can’t control what crosses our path.
We can, however, adopt it.
You are reading these words on our gaudy American holiday, “Black Friday.”
Today makes Amazon Prime Day look dignified. Gracious aunts who helped wash the dishes last night are currently giving each other noogies in Walmart. Fathers with bald spots become hairy hooligans, playing tug-o-war over the last Paleontologist Barbie. Middle school principals and bank tellers are reduced to rappelling down the side of CVS, all because peanut butter cups are 10% off.
It is not our species’ finest moment. It also has no right to be called “Black Friday.”
“Black Friday” should not be about the things we grab with sticky fingers. “Black Friday” should be about the gifts that present themselves.
“Black Friday” should be about cats so technicolor, they are all the colors combined.
What does it mean when Adder crosses your path? It means congratulations are in order. Your day has just become a holiday. Not even your angelic grandmother could earn what you have just received.
Boa winks over his shoulder, those sweet-potato-pie eyes holding back no marshmallow. Boa loves you, because that is what gifts do. Assembly is not required, and deserving is not possible. Boa purrs perpendicular to your to-do list, because your thoughts are racing, but your lap is empty.
A black cat does not “cross your path.” A black cat causes a traffic incident with total intention.
Boa and Adder collect Black Fridays the way your cousin collects Funko Pops. It is Black Friday every time they abscond with your agenda, ripping it to ribbons. It is Black Friday every time you stay in the solarium until sunset, even though you have not vacuumed in two weeks.
The brothers’ entire wish list is your name, written over and over until Adder and Boa run out of colors. (They are still going. They have no intention of running out of colors, or of poultry. Poultry procurement is the only item Adder and Boa will allow to remain on your agenda.)
Black Friday is not about rushing and grabbing. Black Friday is about stopping and plopping.
And as everyone knows, Black Friday is about leftovers that are actually better than the main meal.
History will remember 2024 as a year of Black Fridays.
This was the year when a brave raven named Mara gave a limb and nearly her life so her kittens could be born. They lived, and she lived, and now she lives with dads who call her Babette. The name “Mara” means “bitter,” pungent as an olive. But “Babette” comes from the story of a feast. The story came true. The three-legged black cat became queen. It is Black Friday.
This was the year when torrential loss nearly turned a cat into a cloud. Tangled inside a mane of mourning, Gracie grieved with every atom. She bore the pain that comes from great love. But Gracie received what no one can buy. Once-in-a-lifetime love summoned a sequel. The cat who lost everything became someone’s everything. It is Black Friday.
This was the year when kittens with missing pieces found fame and honor. Waffles and Chickadee came into this world with partial cerebellums and the full expectation that every day would be more wonderful than the last. They proved that Black Fridays are ubiquitous. There is fun that costs nothing. It comes when you give yourself without running the numbers first. It comes when you keep running through the lobby until you collapse headfirst into a dream. The black kittens now shoulder the burden of bliss in a forever home, together. It is Black Friday.
This was the year when the cat with leaky letters after her name became love’s laureate. Clover considered “FeLV” lucky, a four-leaf inconvenience that paid her admission to Tabby’s Place. Our sooty shamrock conquered Quinn’s Corner with peace. She remained ladylike among oafs like Oram and convinced them that the plural is actually “oaves.” She responded to rumors of being “unadoptable” with a radiance that is unconditional. The cat with the complicated condition found her forever home. It is Black Friday.
And this was the year when the zaniest leftover set his eye on the feast that never ends. Missing a part, Farva missed nothing. If one mustard seed of love fell into good soil, he was there to whisper, “grow!” When seizures shut down his fun factory, he was up and running again in an instant. Self-pity was too pale for the life Farva was painting. His palette was all purrs and persistence. He drew cartoons for his neurologist and dotted every lonely “i” with hearts. He measured his days by his wishbone. The cat with the cloudy future is now his family’s sunshine. It is Black Friday.
And so is tomorrow, if you leave the path open.
You could buy an 88″ television, or you could sit on the floor and see what happens.
Apricot and Adder and Boa have no coupons or door-busters to offer, only soft bellies and strange stories that led from darkness to light.
You could rush to your next errand, or you could sit in the kitchen with your lonely uncle and pick the marshmallows off the sweet potato casserole together. You could rush the year away, or you could schedule some real Black Fridays.
I say we resolve to love whatever crosses our path.
Maybe even adopt it.
Next time, we’ll talk about Toyotathon.