Epilogues: December 2015
Breathe in deeply, kittens. Can you sense it?
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These are trying times, kittens. We need something stronger than painted smiles to get through the day. Stronger than scotch-spiked espresso. Stronger, even, than cats with lemon helmets.
You can learn a lot when you listen. This year alone, we’ve learned that what kind of funk is gon’ give it to ya. We’ve learned that someone, somewhere, thought we needed a second Paul Blart: Mall Cop movie. And we’ve learned that cats are sheep are cats.
It’s over, homies. The worst of winter. The chalky cavalcade of Conversation Hearts. The days without daffodils. And your wait for the cats’ monthly wrap-up.
In Greek, the word zoe (Ζωή for you purists) means life. Therefore, the word Zoey must translate to the underappreciated adjective lifey.
If years were condiments, 2015 would be a fresh jar of Jif. Today is fresh, unsullied, full of poetry and possibility. But before we plunge into that smooth unknown, here’s one last tarantella with Old Man 2014.