The Real 9/11

It's back. September 11. It's a sad day, and certainly deserving of mention. So despite my proclamation of silence earlier this week, I have to chime in with a few words to commemorate the occasion. Let's hope that nothing else bad ever happens on any other September 11--that would be dreadful and confusing. Imagine the TV news shows trying to come up with a logo for the story: Son of 9/11? 9/11 Two?

Something else: My cat Daisy will be 18 years old on 9/11. In cat years that is ancient, old enough to make people's voices go up an octave and say things like, "I had an old cat once who lived to be 16." While Daisy still has all her teeth and a hearty appetite, and even runs around outside for a bit every day, she is mostly out of her mind. She cries a lot, a mournful wailing which would be chilling were it not so damn annoying. She sits in the same spot pretty much all the time, unless she's at the door wanting to go outside and come back inside for no reason except to get me up out of my chair. Anyway, I  wish her a happy birthday.