I frequently imagine what you think of me. You, with your easy laugh and relaxed shoulders, your sunny house and charming kids. You who never imagine I am thinking of you.
In the morning the cats gather at their food bowls. The oldest, Gertie, is getting plump. She hates the four kittens, who crowd her, steal her food, and pounce on her when she is trying to settle in for a nap. I rinse the petrified wet food from the bowls and pull back the lid from the new can with a satisfying crack. The kittens meow insistently.
