Last Thursday I missed a memorial service for a former co-worker. Over the weekend, I learned that another former co-worker has passed on. This morning, it was someone I met in a weight management (local) group. I mean, I know we all have to go sometime, but it seems as though the losses come in waves, and I'm in the middle of one at the moment.
These are not super close folks, mind you... we're all retired. Two of the three, it was cancer, so in some ways you are grateful for a ceasing of suffering. Cancer sucks! BUT!
In any case, another of my former co-workers is seeking homes for two cats that belonged to one of the departed. I took on Cyndi via the same former co-worker, years ago, and she lived a few months at my house, surviving a careful separation from Diamond, the GSP (also long gone by now). In a fit of compulsive compassion, I started asking her questions about the two kitties: how old, male/female, indoor/outdoor, how old, etc. I'm pondering over whether Prisoner and Rubia would tolerate the introduction of newcomers. And at the same time, a part of my brain is screaming "NO! Lacey is horribly allergic to cats!"
I'm hoping, therefore, that someone else beats me to the punch. This is Nicky, one of the kitties in need of a new human.
And this one is Max, the other of the bonded pair.
There was a trio of us at the old workplace, including the recently deceased human of these cats and the gal who is trying to find them a new home, and myself, who all had shirts that looked very much alike.
We used to get the giggles if two or all three of us wore that shirt on the same day.
Me in my version of that shirt, Halloween 2012. The baby? My great-niece Ivy, who now lives in Philadelphia.
Life goes on, and is still good. I'll let you know what happens with the kitties, and hopefully it will be that they have a fine new home soon.
















