The last of my cats died this week. I haven’t been catless in about 23 years. It’s an odd feeling. The bed seems very, very large. In the mornings, I trip myself up on the way to the kitchen because I’m used to stepping over the cat. When I leave, I call goodbye into an empty apartment.
I’ve decided to wait a bit before getting another cat: my children are about to leave home, and I don’t want to have the cat(s) sitting alone because I’m flibbertigibbetting around town. People laugh at me when I say this. My best friend gave me six months before I get a cat, ’cause she was trying to be polite. My children said rude words and suggested we’d have more feline companions within two weeks. My sisters are being tactfully silent on the subject.