This has hit me really hard and I’m not sure why. Maybe, I think, it’s because to me my generation has always felt a little lost and thanks to early deaths like Cobain and Shakur, as if we were all kind of hanging by a thin thread. To me, the late 80s/early 90s felt like we were all angry, but for justice, for changing things, for not being what our parents were, and then by the end of the decade, we ruined Woodstock.
I don’t know. I guess I felt like we had to cling together in small groups and try to do for each other what the rest of the world would not do for us. If we stuck together, we would survive.
But we’re still slipping away. We haven’t been able to keep each other safe, to change the world to fit for us. There never were enough of us for that and now there are fewer.
Y’all, Sonnyboy got mad yesterday! The orange cat had struck him repeatedly in the face and the dog gave a big old angry growl/snap in the cat’s direction. If you know how dogs say “Fuck off,” you know the cat wasn’t in any real danger, but I was still surprised!
I was telling the vet that Sonnyboy never seems to get down or mad. I mean, the Roomba cornered him in the bathroom and he just took it knocking into his legs for a minute until it decided to go elsewhere.
Sometimes I forget how old Sonnyboy is, because I feel like he’s experiencing a lot of things that most dogs experience earlier. Like running. Like cuddling. Like it being safe for him to be deeply annoyed and then mad at the cat. I don’t ever want him to be mean. And, frankly, I’m not sure he has a mean bone in his body. But I want him to feel comfortable disliking things and not standing for them.
And today, you guys, this morning, he threw himself down the hill and he slid on his back head first halfway down and I was a bit scared because on your back head first seems like a dangerous way to go down a hill. But he got up and he came over to me and he seemed satisfied.
And I feel lucky that this wondrous mystery is my friend.