Everyone is someone’s favorite, even if the only Someone is God. But Mario…Mario was everyone’s favorite.
Even when we expect an exit, we’re not entirely ready. Not emotionally. Not viscerally. And not literarily.
What I really have to say about this topic is simple: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!
When it comes to cats, I have a slight tendency to act upon impulses. When it comes to my cat-related impulses, my instincts have not done wrong by me.
March is the consummate in-between month. Lion and lamb. Winter and spring. Death and life.
If I can avoid it, I don’t like penning two sad posts back-to-back. Today, I can’t avoid it. But given who’s the source of sorrow, I can’t be too sappy, either. Not if I don’t want a certain sleek little mink of a cat to haunt me haughtily.
I’m not gonna try to drizzle this with syrup, kittens. We’ve been battered, beaten and boxed about the ears this month.
The equation always holds, but that never makes it feel right: The longer you’ve loved someone, the larger “goodbye” looms.
He came to us after one hurricane. He left us on the eve of another. Like the wind we can’t see coming or going, Hobbes has flown from our grasp.