You aren’t seeing things. There are, as Paul Simon sang, angels in the architecture, especially right now. Gigantic garish gold Styrofoam angels at Macy’s. Skies of heavenly hosts, over mangers and strangers, under trees and eaves. Angels festooning the firmament of your own soul. Every December, without fail, they sing a little louder than usual.
Friends are reuniting. F*R*I*E*N*D*S are reuniting. As months go, you might say this May was The One With High Hopes. Then again, we are in the business of cats, so hopes around here are always Himalaya-high.
You’re not imagining it. Today the world is a little less colorful, less ragged, less funny. Two geriatric grey giants have departed, taking a kaleidoscope of colors with them.
Quick: tell me your favorite words of all time. I’ll go first: Beloved. Ubiquitous. Delightful. Ginormous. Luminous. Irrevocable. Mine all happen to describe cats.
As recently discussed, not everything is yours to keep. However, there are things no one can take from you.
You may be vaccinated. You may be agitated. But spring, and hope, and cats are marching on, and I hope you’ll come along.
I don’t believe in luck. Or coincidences. Or the existence of bad cats, bad people, bad Mumford and Sons songs, or good vegan cheese.
Eating season during an eating year (COVID 15 anyone?) leaves many of us in a perpetual state of being half full. This is true of our bellies and our minds. No time to fully digest everything before the next thing to swallow gets shoved down our throats or dumped into our over-taxed heads.