As this year draws to a close, Cat (who loves to read, and also write novels; each, generally of the literary variety) looks back. Cat tends to look back, always with a keen eye toward prose. Or so writes one of her main characters, to wit:
“I write, not for myself, but for my intended audience, and always with a keen eye toward prose.”
As the sun sets (metaphorically speaking) on such a year as this (surely there has never been one as distressing, unsettling, and strange)…
Alas, our Cat (with best intentions and most eager to pen a witty end-of-year dissertation, including a fine number of thoughtfully woven tales reflective of the year nearly past–fanciful, but not arbitrarily so–is suddenly distracted, and by no less than a dangling catnip ball! (‘Tis truly a personal favorite and quite impossible to ignore!)
And so she plays…
Catnip ball summarily vanquished, Cat returns to the pressing task at hand for most of us, this time of year: tossing the old away to make way for the new. (Actually, our Cat does no such thing; instead, doing what Cats do best: watch, and contemplate. And watch and contemplate some more.)
And finally, said task complete, Cat finds a spot to curl up nice and cozy, and dreams the dreams of mice and other pleasant squeaky things.
We should all be so lucky, I suppose…
And so, as this year draws itself inward and toward an end as certain as it is uncertain, Cat dreams her dreams and wishes her wishes: That all may write well, play hard, and rest happy, and that this New Year reflects the good in each of us, and brings forth the best from all of us. Peace and goodwill for everyone: the furry, and the non.