Gotta Dance

I've been having what can kindly be described as a rough time lately. I don't feel much like writing when that's the case, which I guess means I don't have a future as an angsty 19th century French poet who spends her days in smoky cafes penning great works of literature. Alas.

So I thought I'd tell you about something that makes me happy. My little niece, now nearly 17 months old, has got rhythm. I mean, the girl can dance, and she knows it. Or maybe the point is that she doesn't know it, that it happens without her consciously realizing that she's dancing. She just can't help it. The moment she hears music, she starts stomping and swaying.

It's so frigging cute, I can't stand it.

Next Time I'll Try the Burlap Sack

There's just no point in my even trying to be fashionable. I was born to spend my life in sweats, and I might as well accept it.

I've been feeling like my work clothes aren't feminine enough, or maybe it's just that even the girliest suit never feels particularly sexy. I thought I'd try a nice dress instead.

It's okay to wear a dress, but of course it has to be a work-appropriate dress. I have, oh, 9,325 dresses in my closet, and none of them were work-appropriate. Too short, too long, too low-cut, too tight, too sloppy, too fancy, too lacy, too young, too old.

I'd need to buy one...easier said than done. I felt that it should cover my shoulders, not be too form-fitting, and not be too revealing. Every dress in the world is at least one of those things. I finally found a dress that met all of my qualifications: a little bit loose but not a sack, cut past the knee, and with flowing sleeves that ended at my elbows.

Unfortunately, I was so busy looking for those details that I failed to take in the entirety of the dress.

So I wore the dress today, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then I happened to glance at myself in the full-length mirror in the ladies' room. Oh, the horror! Somehow...and I don't know how it happened...I'd embraced '70s fabulosity. I have seen that dress, with its polyester stretchiness and bohemian breeziness and its godawful loud mod pattern. In my mom's closet. Next to the bell bottoms.

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On a sad note, I did want to thank everyone for the kind words about Louie. It's been very hard. I was so steeled for the possibility that he would die that the news didn't shock me in the least, yet I wasn't ready in the least for the reality of him being gone. I can't believe how much it hurts. Everywhere I look, I see a place where he was. Even as I sit here typing, all I can think about is how he used to delight in parking himself in front of the computer monitor so I couldn't see it, how he'd purr when I nudged him to the side and then move right back where he was, looking at me with his eyes full of light and love. How can he be so very gone, so very fast?

Louie, 1999-2007

My cat Louie died today. He was 7.


I got Louie on December 5. He was only 8 weeks old, a skinny little ball of crazy kitten.

My beloved Pomeranian had been killed that Thanksgiving. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of grief, and I decided that a kitten might ease some of my pain.

I went to the shelter with the goal in mind of getting a black female kitten. I was in love with my brother's glossy ebony cat, and I wanted one just like her. When I got to the shelter, they had apparently had a bumper crop of black kittens. There were something like eight to choose from.

Meanwhile, my brother, who came with me to help me choose, took Louie out of his cage. After playing with him for a while, he said I should look at him because he was such a nice cat. I wasn't all that interested – I wanted a solid-colored cat and was not fond of his black-and-white coloring. But I held him a bit. The other kittens were happy to be held for a little while, but then they wanted to get down. Louie snuggled in my arms and fell asleep. When I tried to put him back in his cage, he struggled and cried piteously and plaintively tapped at my hand with his paw through the bars.

I was hooked.

I cried all the way home with him that day. I was still so sad about my little dog, and yet so filled with a sense of meaning in all of this...that this cat coming home with me got to do so only because of the horrible thing that happened, and how wonderful this day was, with that kitten's whole life ahead of him. And I cried because I knew that one day I'd be saying goodbye to him too.


Louie was a darling kitten, the most affectionate I've ever seen. Almost every picture I have of him shows him curled up on someone's lap or shoulder or even their head. I had a hard time finding pictures of him alone to post here.


He grew up into a rough-and-tumble little tomcat. He still loved to sit in my lap and to mess with his kitty roommate. We went through a rough patch of occasional biting and scratching for a couple of years in the middle. Some people thought I should give him away, but what they didn't understand was that I loved him, even if he could be mean. He could also be very sweet, and he was my baby that I had raised from a tiny kitten, and whatever he was, I felt like I was responsible for it.

Over time he grew out of it, and the last few years the cat that I had seen in the kitten emerged. He loved to sit in my lap when I watched TV. If I had to get up, I could lift him in a blanket, place him down on the chair, and then pick him up and place him in my lap again when I came back, and he'd be perfectly content. He loved people and always ran to greet them. He loved to play in water, and he'd do anything to get some Fancy Feast. He loved to chase little foam balls and climb on the cat tree and drape himself over sofa arms. He loved me and would wail every time I stepped out of the house. He purred when I talked to him and had the brightest green eyes and the pinkest little nose and the perfect tuxedo coloring that I could finally see was so beautiful. He was always so full of life, and he always seemed so happy.

I loved him.

New Digs

This was the "real" first post on this blog....

Welcome to my new and improved blog! Same great taste, less filling.

I've blogged elsewhere, but it was time for a change. Let me know if you're interested in reading posts from the old blog.