Things change quickly in bloom-time. One day, the garden bed is a faint brown “no.” The next, all the green things yell “yes!” One day, we brace ourselves for kitten season. The next, we have four nursing moms and eighteen vole-sized smidgens.
It’s over, homies. The worst of winter. The chalky cavalcade of Conversation Hearts. The days without daffodils. And your wait for the cats’ monthly wrap-up.
Well, do you? It is not Feliz Navidad. It is not an ad for footie pajamas. It is…
Take a moment and glance at your calendar. What does it tell you? It’s Thursday, October 16th. It’s Boss’s Day.* It’s Flea‘s birthday. It’s the 630th anniversary of Jadwiga being crowned King of Poland. It’s the eve of Wear Something Gaudy Day. But, much more than this, it’s National Feral Cat Day.
People say that Labor Day marks the end of summer. People say that white shoes are not okay after said day. People say a lot of things. But if you’ve had the kind of August our cats have had, you’re still sloshing white espadrilles through the endless summer stew.
If you like to sing-a, say, about: 1. The moon-a 2. The June-a and/or 3. The spring-a, you are in luck. May has gone, The June-a has come, and it brings you cat tidings.
Things change: Seasons. Hemlines. Snoop Lion’s name. And this spring, Angus…has changed.
Some things do not make sense. For example: 1) That weird recurring dream in which you’re married to Dan Akroyd; 2) The way I find myself humming “Ode to Joy” when I clean litter boxes; 3) The fact that neither Angus nor Boris has yet been adopted.
We did it, kittens. We marched forth. We outlasted the year that seemed like always winter and never Christmas. And now, Aslan is on the move. Now, wild dingoes couldn’t keep us from blooming.
Sometimes 28 days can feel like the longest month of the year. This was no ordinary February.