A few weeks ago my family and I were driving up Blue Hill Avenue. We took a left turn onto a narrow street with cars parked on both sides of the street.

Suddenly, my husband screams, “Oh, NO!” I feel the car lift slightly--we drove over something. “What was that?” I asked. “A cat,” my husband said. My daughter and son, traumatized, turned to look out the rear window; the cat was making an effort, using its hind legs, to crawl towards the curb. [more]

I was supposed to have a meeting today. A meeting I would have had to tear out of early at noon sharp, so I could race across town in time to pick up my daughter at 12:30. Then I was going to rush home to type up a post for today (subject matter still undetermined at that  point), since the Internet has been down almost all week at work. After that, I was going to race back downtown again to pick up L. at 2:30, then head over to my office to leave the two kids there with their babysitter while I sat in a meeting from 4:00 to 5:00. [more]

Ever since we found out last week that our cat has mouth cancer, I've been waking up in the morning with a vague, sad feeling in my chest. I get up and think, for a few moments, why am I sad? Then I remember, and I shower, feed the other animals, coax our kitty to eat, and start the round and around of thinking about how we're going to address this situation with our kids. [more]

Remember T.'s fish Spike? The one that died last week, only 48 hours after we'd first bought him? A mere 24 hours after that, while we were still in Maryland with my parents, Scott called.

Molly had her baby! He declared, triumphantly, on the phone.

Who? I asked. Did we HAVE a friend named Molly? A friend expecting a child?

But Molly, of course, was T.'s other fish, a rotund orange one that Scott swore was pregnant when the kids and I brought it home from the pet store.
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