Today’s my birthday, so I figured I was allowed to say whatever I wanted to get your attention.

It’s strange to think about surviving another year. To mark it with a time stamp. As I “mature,” I realize more and more that we live in a world that seems to need to know how old everything and everyone is. But why does age matter? Outside of the obvious “experience” answer, and the one about being legal to drink, vote, drive, have sex or go to war (which brings me to the question – why can an 18 year old fight for our country but not drink in it?) who cares if I’m 27, 29, 32, 34, 45 or 69? Will you love me any more, or less, if I’m older or younger, and if you love me at all to begin with?

As you ponder these questions..here is, as promised, the picture of my sleeping pussy:

This is really how he sleeps with us in the winter. Isn’t it amazingly cute?

Okay. Now I’m done being one of those sick cat people.