I don’t need to spend years with a cat to love her. I don’t even need months. I don’t need weeks. The length of a day becomes a luxury when time is limited. Hours can represent tiny lifetimes if you fill them with meaning. Such was my time with Bianca.
“April is the cruelest month.” – T.S. Eliot “T.S. Eliot is incorrect.” – Angela Hartley and 120 cats
I got it. You got it. The cats got it, and they got it baaaaaay-id.
So you look like a BoyBucca. So you’re the right age for a boy band. What are you gonna do with all this awesomeness?
That title isn’t exactly accurate. Geriatric throw-downs, plural, endless in plurality, would be more like it.
There are songs about winter, spring and fall. But there are songs about summer. And that’s no coincidence.
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.*