The wind keeps coming and where does all this breath-of-earth originate and it shakes the lace of the Bradford pears and and it's so gray, so gray.
Luna, the gray outdoor cat is on the porch and she is crying her bitchy moany cry of despair and she drives me insane.
Is this what happens when the dogs die? The cats all move in?
Is this turning into a cat blog? NO, no, no, no but let me tell you that last night the Wild Child let me scratch her head but then this morning I spaced out like the bumbling idiot I am and left the bathroom door open too much and went across the street to let the guy who cleans the house in and he was already in and we talked for about half an hour and then I came home and let the chickens out and got some stuff out of the freezer in the garage and when I got back in the house I realized what I'd done and Baby Kittah was, of course, not in the bathroom. I feared so that she had left the house entirely but no, I just saw her, streak-slide across the wood floor and she is somewhere in this house which has ten thousand closets and fireplaces and underbeds and couches and chairs and blankets in cradles and so- feral cat wild in the house and god, I should trap her and take her to the vet because she can give Maurice diseases and Thanksgiving is in three days.
The world is going to hell in a handbasket and even in Tallahassee students are getting (got) shot and the gunman gunned down and a guy set a fire and ambushed and killed a deputy who has a family, goddammit, and I've already had two discussions about guns today and are we at war in Afghanistan again or is it Pakistan and I had a nightmare about my stepfather last night and here I am worried as hell about the cat, the cats, Thanksgiving dinner, it is drizzling, it is gray, my husband is home and it's okay and I never, ever believed, ever that I would grow up and then have this family, this man, these ridiculously beautiful tiny problems.
"It all okay, Mer," Owen used to tell me.
"You're getting better with your niceness!" he told me on Friday when I agreed that we could walk back from the post office on the railroad track.
I'm going to go eat an egg.
I am going to make chili. Jessie is coming out to make lemon pies because their Meyer's Lemon tree gave them dozens and dozens of lemons and I might make a pecan pie and here we are and the Wild Kitten is okay, somewhere in this house and Luna moans and the house sighs and accepts whatever life is being lived within it and me too, me too, me too.