As you read this sentence, you’re getting older. Wait, you just did it again. Now you did it again. You can’t stop, and I won’t get in your way. But before we get all our farfalle twisted into bow ties of despair, remember: we’re not alone. The cats are aging, too.
It’s entirely possible that we have galumphing hordes of grandparents on our hands. We’re rich, kittens. Who among us, whether seven or seventy-seven, couldn’t use a good Grandpa or twelve?
Don’t be led astray. The creatures who stumble across your path are not there by accident.
“OM” – classic and concise. “Oh, mama, papa, buy me pizza” — often used in my youth, now in disuse (“oh, no, I gotta buy my own pizza,” and “oh, hubby-wubby, buy me pizza,” just don’t have the same ring).
Quick: tell me your favorite words of all time. I’ll go first: Beloved. Ubiquitous. Delightful. Ginormous. Luminous. Irrevocable. Mine all happen to describe cats.
When I was asked, as a little girl, what I wanted to do when I grew up, I’m certain I never chirped, “I want to write cat obituaries!” I still don’t. But love bids me otherwise, and here we are again, too soon for another Forever Loved.
Fat Tuesday is feeling a little gaunt this year. New Orleans itself has replaced Mardi Gras with something called Yardi Gras, which is well intentioned but sounds like a gimmick for selling patio furniture.
We are not in control.* We are not as powerful as cats. But we are not entirely helpless.
How are you holding up, kittens? Are grit and grace and determination holding you together like so much magical nougat, or is the cheese sliding off your cracker?
More than ever before, we are hearing from the stridently this or vociferously that crowds. This is clearly right. That is clearly wrong. There can be no in between. This side or that side. If you’re not with me, you’re against me. Life is seldom so clear. Even when it is at its foundation, there […]