When I tell people I want to live in a school bus after I retire, reactions run the gamut. But it’s OK. I’ve already driven a bus – The bus I was riding home from school one Spring day in 1972, in 9th Grade, supervised. Actually, I wasn’t supervised at all, but only watched by the licensed bus driver who gave me her seat so that I could drive my bus down my street. Continue reading
There is no crankier mammal on the face of this planet that a grumbly black cat with a bone to pick about her name, who was probably rescued against her will.
I’ve probably set myself up to explain a lot, but even that is really just the beginning of it, because we also forced a new kitten on “the poor thing” just as she was done settling in, so there’s that, too.
I’ll begin with the name: Her name is Neville. Yes, Neville. Three (or so) forces conspired to set a boy’s name on this once-tiny and terrified/furious kitten, and to leave it there.