Getting With the Program

This morning when I opened the door to the side deck for a gulp of glorious October air, I almost stepped on a "gift" from my cat lying on the threshold (see photo). Lurch was sitting nearby watching for my reaction, and when I gasped in horror he seemed genuinely confused, as if to say, "What, you don't like it?" Actually I don't like it, but as my husband is quick to point out, that's life. Meaning death.

I am still reeling from the death of my oldest friend Rick, who left a few days ago. It seems wrong, and the whole world seems out of whack. But then I remember that we all die and I'd better get used to it. Still, it's never pretty. Anyway, Rick had a lung disease that killed him, finally, but this poor little mouse likely was healthy, scampering around the autumn woods looking for food. It's not fair; Rick wasn't finished, and neither was that mouse.

I am considering withholding breakfast from Lurch as punishment. Someone has to pay.