At the beginning of 2017, I reasoned that we should adopt a cat because it would help offset the raging depression sure to come after the inauguration. You said no. I asked if I needed to be gravely ill before we finally got a cat. Don’t be silly, you said. It was a shameful thing for me to suggest (a few times) and you didn’t fall for it.
Accepting this pet-less fate, I went along with my year, so focused on current events that I couldn’t have spared love for anyone else. You are sort of right about everything (except MSNBC is amazing, no matter what you say). Would an adorable, twitchy feline make the horror go away? Or in that never-ending trigger-fog, would I remain absent, as I’ve been most of this year? It’s one thing to be alert, and another to be obsessed with that darkness. I don’t expect to be perfect, but I am aiming for better.
Despite an ever-present Apocalypse and that distant cat dream, I have much to be thankful for. You are healthy, no matter how many “procedures” you threaten to have. And now my mother has an iPhone, which means I can text her frantic emoji-filled texts. My knitting bag is full, a hobby that prevents that disastrous trip to the deli for candy. My job of twenty years keeps me busy in a way that is comforting and absorbing. Friends and family, lovely. I am writing. Most of all, I’m grateful for you.
Exactly eight years ago, when I thought my life was plodding along quite well, I took a fun detour, meeting you for our first date after a twenty-six-year gap. From there, everything changed and I found myself on an even wider path with off-shoots, wildlife, and adventures that make me glad to be alive. Thank you, Sam, for bringing such joy to my life, even though it’s very irritating that you know me so well. As I write this you are watching football, using my stability ball as an ottoman and eating my fries–a sight that is very dear to me. And thank you for the $500 litter box you showed up with a few days ago.
I love you madly!