Thanksgiving

This morning, we heard a meowing the likes of which we had never heard before. My dad was all “What’s going on with the tiny cat?” And I looked out and saw a tiny cat, howling, in the garage. A cat not ours.

People drop all kinds of animals of out in the country assuming… I don’t know, honestly. But let me tell you, if you think, for a second, that, if you let your pet go out in the country, it will somehow make its way in the world, you are very, very wrong.

This poor cat is very, very friendly, and nothing but skin and bones. So, I fed it. How could I not? It’s hard not to appreciate the guts it takes to approach a house full of a scary dog and demand food, but, if you could feel the bones on this poor cat, you’d understand why it was so desperate.

Will we keep it? Who knows.

Otherwise, things are going fine. The turkey took a little longer than I thought and I managed to set the bottom of the oven on fire with my sweet potato casserole and I’ve had to yell at grown-ass men not to tug on each other’s nipple haris and the nephews had to have an argument over which Indian tribes they are descended from (Cherokee for the older, Lumbee for the younger).

But over all, it’s been calm and nice, for us. I’m including some of the shots for my parents’ Christmas letter, because I thought you’d get a kick out of them.