April, sweet April, T.S. Eliot had you all wrong. You’re not the cruellest month. You’re not trying to show us fear in a handful of dust.
Cats make us do a lot of goofy things. They make us talk in a pitch only cats and bats can hear. They make us sing original songs with lyrics like “Meeeeeeeeatball is a sweeeeeeeetball.” They make us swaddle them in girdles.
Some humans convened this week. Other humans will convene next week. On a scale from “the 1%” to “yuuuuuuge”, the cats’ level of caring is smaller than the margin of error.
Supposedly, it’s March hares that are madder than a hatter. But, ’round here, May is the month of mirthful, mind-splattering madness, courtesy of 100,000,000,000 kittens.*