23 Years, 27 Degrees

My mother died 23 years ago today, and for the first time the date might have slipped by had I not spoken with my brother (father of the late Muffy; see Glenwood's Ancestors). My mom was 55, so her life ended early.

And the cold hit hard and suddenly in New York City today, 27 degrees and who knows how low with the brutal wind.

I thought, "Glenwood would not have survived long in this weather." No, she wouldn't have, but the reality is she would have died long ago had (1) Ellen not cancelled dinner on October 1, (2) I kept my promise not to return because it was so eerie without the cats (see Glenwood's First House), and (3) she not meowed so I would see her in the dark. She had maybe a few days left in her. She was starving, unable to eat, emaciated, dehydrated and so, so sick.

And here she is now, nine-plus weeks later, relentlessly pouncing on Timmy, who must be exhausted from the assaults. Yet he continues to be so kind to her, so tolerant of her kitten energy unleashed. Too bad he's too damn big to hide.