Remember the Seniors: Harriet begins
We assume every good tale has a beginning, a middle, and an end. But if we are lucky enough to come to the ends of ourselves, we may learn a new story.
We assume every good tale has a beginning, a middle, and an end. But if we are lucky enough to come to the ends of ourselves, we may learn a new story.
Any one day has a way of being something different for all beings. For cats, such days can be wrapped in delicately smoked trout on crunchy crackers, or they can be whipped into a frenzy of furtive, furry activity.
So here we stand, at the end and the beginning. Cats know that there are only ever beginnings. Cats know many things beyond our reach. But they are gentle, and permit us to believe in figments — endings, the concept of “age appropriate,” the existence of credible vegan cheese — as long as necessary. Perhaps […]
I would like to kiss the New Year, but I can’t reach that high. I would like to glimpse what’s next, but I can’t open my eyes that wide. So I will simply sit here, on the floor, with the cats, telling stories.
It’s Christmas Day. It’s Christmas Day, and you’re here, drawn to the cats like a child to the snow. It’s Christmas Day, and our child-hearts are together, where they belong.
She was bent out of shape. She had missed the Barbie movie, the ice cream man, and every atom of August’s awesome. Her pockets were hairy but otherwise empty. She would still fly first class.