You may be vaccinated. You may be agitated. But spring, and hope, and cats are marching on, and I hope you’ll come along.
February was not fully perfect. Cases in point: Something has gone horribly wrong with all the butter in Canada. Elvira is no longer ours for the hugging. Daft Punk has broken up. Additional case in point, pointedly true every month: our collective sanity has broken up (HA HA HA I MADE A FUNNY! “COLLECTIVE SANITY” […]
I suppose we were asking too much of you, 2021. We demanded that you atone for the sins of your predecessor. We commanded that you carry all of our hopes. We thought, at least, that you could be good-weird rather than civilization-tottering-weird.
Be it known that November 2020 has come, November 2020 has gone, November 2020 will not be back again. You and me and the cats, though? We’re still here.
What shall we say of you, October 2020? How would you like to be remembered?
There’s something about September that makes us wistful. By “us,” naturally, I mean exclusively humans. Cats are mercifully devoid of all the wist that twists us in nostalgic knots.
You gave us wonder and splendor. You gave us the return of Bill and Ted (see above). You gave us the feast day of St. Augustine, and the annual pondering as to whether or not his friends called him “Gus.” You gave us an uncommonly high volume of marmalade cats.
Oh August, sweet little August, you are young yet, and tender. Yet as you grow, we have a request for you. On behalf of every individual of every species on every continent, subcontinent and islet: please be kind.
We try to keep it real on this blog. That said, if you ever hear me utter the words “I’m keepin’ it real,” please take me gently by the hand and take me to a quiet room where you can apply duct tape to my mouth (preferably glitter duct tape).