Feline passenger manifest

Larry’s sitting on my lap, supervising. Larry, if I haven’t mentioned him before, is a little black cat bent on stealing your soul. He’s been eating like it’s his job, which it kind of is, and he’s finally put on all the weight he lost over the winter. He has attained roaster dimensions. If you live with cats, or are in fact a cat yourself, you know that if you come to rest in a certain kitty pose, the humans around you involuntarily picture you with a golden crust and cornbread stuffing.

Memorial Day. Gray and raining. We spent yesterday in the sun with our friends from the bar. After years of this, you’d figure I’d get used to seeing them in daylight, but I never do. In this case, hooray! The sunlight was warm and steady, the food abundant, beverages resting on every surface. One dog, one child, two grills. There weren’t even any lame-brained riding mower accidents, though the landscaper really shouldn’t have left the weed whacker unattended like that.

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