Birthdays and gratitude

My love of birthdays is no secret to anyone. I love birthdays and every year I talk about mine more than is really decent for a woman of my age.

Birthdays make me happy.

Maybe it’s just because I like being the center of attention for a few days…or, uh, a whole month.

Or maybe it’s because I like getting presents. I do like presents, big or small. Roasting pan or fake cat’s paw. Love. Booze filled chocolates. Love. Skull shaped ice cube trays. Love. Power tools. Love.

I definitely love  the dinner and drinks invitations, and the people who do the inviting.

I am very much in favor of the mini-vacations and extended visits from people special to me.

There are not very many work days in a typical birthday month for me. I like working, but I like sleeping late and huddling in watching old movies even more!

It could be that what makes me happy is  the reminder that another year has gone safely by, mostly full of laughter and love.

Or the birthday cards, which always seem to make me all teary-eyed even if they literally have pictures of litter boxes on them.

It could be the cumulative effect of all of the messages, and texts, and Facebook posts wishing me well. I mean, I know that Facebook practically ORDERS people to wish me a happy birthday, but still. The fact that people take a minute out of their lives to think of me and wish me well is something that makes my tiny little Grinch heart grow at least two sizes larger each year. Considering how much it re-shrinks again over the course of the year, it’s a very good think I have a birthday every year. For the good of humanity.

More than anything, though, I think what makes me the most happy about birthdays is that they are a time to take a moment and remember all of the things about my life that are so wonderful. All of the people I love who love me back. Every drink with friends reminds me just how much I have to be grateful for.

Birthdays are my real thanksgiving. If you are one of the many, many people who wished me well on my birthday, I thank you.

Gratitude, it turns out, makes me very happy.











** PS:  Happy birthday, Doctor–I hope your birthday was as wonderful as mine!

An imaginary conversation about change

You know, I am really not very good at this “embracing change” shit. 

And this is the first time you’ve noticed it?

No. I have known it for quite a while now. 


And…I do try not to freak out about it. 


Shut up. Yes. Try. 


Are you a psychoanalyst or something? Can you say something other than “and?”



What is it that is so hard about change?

Not all change. Just some things. 

Like what?

Like my friends moving away. I am not a fan. At all. 

No. But is it good for them?

I don’t know. It could be. 

Is your concern mostly about how it will impact you?

Of course! Everyone knows I am selfish at heart. 

You aren’t as selfish as you think you are. 




You’re welcome. 

It’s just really hard to keep up with it all. It’s not that I am unhappy with my life at all. I am very happy right now, so when things change I worry about it upsetting that balance. 

But things always change. 

I know. But it is hard. 

Yeah. Sometimes. 

No one minds a change that involves an increased level of happiness. 

No. I am sorry that your friends moved. 

Me too. I know that everything else is great. 

You do have a pretty sweet life. 

I really do. Most changes really do work out. Things always seem to get better. 

Do they?

They do. 

So what are you worried about?

The interim. 


The transition between the good things is hard sometimes. 

So, you are worried about a transitory period of slight discomfort I between great things happening?

Yes. Yes I am. Also, you suck. 

I love you, too. 

Good night, you…

Sleep tight. 

***much love to my emotional attorney and Stuff as they move to their new life in Central Oregon. I will miss you. Thank you for being part of my life. Fuckers. 

37 Pieces of kibble

Every day when I get up in the morning, or come home in the evening, Squeaky Cat explains to me that he is DYING OF STARVATION because he is very close to just about almost being able to see the bottom of his food dish. Practically. It’s not actually empty, but he can see that it could possibly become empty at some point and feels very strongly that I should remediate this emergency immediately.

Kitty gets quite agitated about it, and tells me very clearly and very loudly that I am abusing him terribly by feeding him so little. Usually his lament is accompanied by running up and down the hall weaving between my feet until he gets too exhausted (because he is STARVING, yo) and flings himself onto the area rug in his best dramatic manner.

As you can see, he is practically a skeleton cat, and his life is nothing but endless  suffering. Oh, and misery. Lots of misery. No one knows the troubles he’s seen. Etc.

Kitty has a very hard life.
Kitty has a very hard life.

Squeaky Cat, like some of the people who live with him, has issues with food. He doesn’t like his food dish to actually get empty, and will  not finish all of his food unless a “people” is around who can refill it.

As Stephen put it, he gets down to his last 37 pieces of kibble and goes into Apocalypse mode until more food goes into his bowl. He does his very best to convince anyone in the room that his need is dire. It might be a little more convincing if he was slightly less rotund.

Kitty has gotten so fat that his tummy seam is all loose and his batting is starting to come out...
Kitty has gotten so fat that his tummy seam is all loose and his batting is starting to come out…
Or if the food dish was, in fact, empty.

38 pieces of kibble
38 pieces of kibble

He won’t stand for any nonsense about it, either-he expects his bowl to be filled in a prompt manner.

He can be quite stern about it.

Kitty is NOT having any of my nonsense!
Kitty is NOT having any of my nonsense!