There are days when I feel like nothing can cheer me up. But it’s never true.

This site never fails to get a smile. There’s just something about kittens with bad grammar that I’m powerless to resist.

Side note: It’s a proven scientific fact that kittens make people happy. How else can you explain the episode of Scrubs where JD saves a man dying of a broken heart by emptying a box of kittens on his face?

I like cheetahs. I think they might be my favorite animal.

I read a book once (it was a picture book, but it still counts) that talked about how cheetahs all look alike. I never really noticed that, because all lions look alike, and all giraffes look alike, and basically any group of animals in the wild look a lot like each other.

But then I looked more closely at the pictures of the cheetahs. They really do look alike. I mean, alike-alike. They have the same markings. Not in the way that giraffes all have spots, or tigers all have stripes, but they really have the same markings. The same dark spots near their eyes, for starters.

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My cat died today. My little Jose. Jose Cuervo. Josefina-lina. Jose toes.

She was born on September 22, 1999, so that makes her about seven and a half years old. That’s not enough time. She was a sweet kitty.

It’s weird how much I miss her, having not seen her more than once or twice a week for months. Maybe it’s not so much that I miss her, but that I know she won’t be there the next time I stick my head under the bathroom sink. She won’t ever again knead my head while I’m trying to sleep, or stand behind me silently and creep me out. I won’t ever again get to pet her plushy fur and tickle her cold little toes and kiss her on her little black nose. I won’t ever get to see the pinkness of her ears showing through her solid gray, or feel the crick at the end of her tail. Or pick her up and force her to snuggle with me while she squirms to get away.

No more sniffy tours. No more tuna yowling. No more sweet little kisses between her and Guinness or between her and Tulla.

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