Cat
By J.R.R. Tolkien
The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.
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I spent all day Saturday giving things away -- everything from a round white table that was in my childhood bedroom to the bed Adam bought himself for the house where he lived during his senior year of college, which had to be disassembled to be brought downstairs and out to a car. We're down to a few stuffed animals, an old pet carrier, and a computer hutch, plus things we have to have hauled away like our couches that have survived two kids and five cats.
Our longtime neighbor Carole, whose late husband Ron gave Adam his first job working in their garden, took us out for fantastic Indian food at Chettinadu (malai kofta, masala dosa, paneer, samosas, and chicken for the non-veg). When we got home, we organized things to move to an Airbnb tomorrow while we watched Icons Unearthed: Marvel. This is our last night sleeping in this house after 28 years! Our cats are not nearly as excited about moving as we are:
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