Cats
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The recent death of my 18½-year-old sleek black cat Neville — a girl cat with a boy’s name — made me think of poor Walter, another sleek and almost entirely black cat I have cared for (and about) in my life.
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It’s OK – I’ve driven a school bus before. Ninth Grade. Age 15, no license.
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There is no crankier mammal on the face of this planet that a grumbly black cat with a bone to pick about her name, who was probably rescued against her will. I’ve probably set myself up to explain a lot, but even that is really just the beginning of it, because we also forced a…
WORDS of WAR 