Growing up, there were many things I took for granted. The best music groups were playing rock and roll or New Wave or were either Michael Jackson or Prince; TV dinners were still a thing that everybody ate and nobody understood (what was that dessert thing? Was it supposed to be cherry cobbler?); Harrison Ford […]
We humans are hopelessly “gifted” at flinging our own interpretations and insecurities onto the cats. And so we wring our hands over the overlooked.
True fact: you may, someday, be more renowned than Taylor Swift. Equally true fact: you may labor and love in obscurity for all of your days. Most factual fact: either way, you’re in good company.
We came. We marched fourth. We marched thirty-first, even. And now, we shall April.
Farmers have their markets. Carnies have their carousels. And we, we have our kittens by the quintillions.
June is arguably the best of months. It has the Strawberry Moon. It has the promise that you will always be a bride. It has Wonder Woman.*
Plug in your earphones, compadres. It’s time to dance to the music…al cats.
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.