Probably luck is like birds on a wire. You get used to a wire full of birds, you don’t notice any more when there are more or less or none at all. It’s just those moments when you look up and watch them all take flight at the same time and you catch your breath as they all turn and then turn again and then fly off to places unknown, that you think, that can’t possibly be ordinary. This can’t possibly be how things go. It must mean something; it must be an omen, a change I can’t live with.
Of course, that’s not true.
Mrs. Wigglebottom still curls up under my feet, rests her head on her paws, and snores quietly like there’s nothing more soothing than the sound of my fingers tapping on plastic keys.
That’s not true, either–I’d argue that letting me rub your head is much more soothing–but it makes me feel calm and calming anyway.
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Tiny Cat Pants 