It’s raining pretty hard out right now, which is nice. Let it rain. I know for the first time in ten days that a little black cat is not stuck out in it, but is safe and warm with me and the Herminator. I didn’t talk too much about the fact that Friday escaped last Sunday because I wasn’t sure what to say. I was afraid she was hurt, suffering, or dead. But now she’s back. I cried when I saw her in the shelter — she flung herself against the cage, trying to get to me — don’t tell me that cats aren’t loyal like dogs. She remembered me — the lady at the shelter laughed and said, “Goodness, that is your cat,” when we opened the cage and Friday snuggled in my arms, purring her fool head off. And I cried like a little girl.
