My dear Maine Coon, Bobby, died over a year ago, and I did not want another cat. He was just shy of 19 and a half. I couldn’t see how any cat in the world could replace him. Plus, it’s easier to leave town when you don’t have a cat, and I hate litter boxes, which I didn’t have to deal with until dear old Bobby got very old because he insisted on going outside his whole life, which also meant he would bring us critters of all sorts, alive and dead. But then I saw this, and my heart skipped a beat:
She was all the way in Georgia, a nine hour drive away. We couldn’t, right? Chris just chuckled and walked out of the room. I emailed them anyway and asked if they ever transport pets north for adoption. Nope, and she was already snapped up. What the heck was I thinking, anyway? There’s a pandemic out there. Her name is Lil’ Bean, and I miss her already.
My Corner of the Village 