The Cat’s out of the Band

We watched that Miranda July movie last night.

The Future.

I thought she was trying too hard. Life is weird enough, no need for so much embellishment. Just my opinion. But there was this line I’m sure I misheard.

The Cat’s out of the Band.

Maybe I didn’t. I don’t know for sure. I’m tired and trying to recover wits I probably never had.  Mother Dearest is gone home and her departure left something in it’s wake. Relief… Regret?

I bathed the dog and mopped the floor.  I made a pot of rice and beans to eat with kimchi and avocado, my Puerto Rican meets Korean comfort food.  Something my dear Husband so graciously endures.

I am finishing the Alice Hoffman novel we listened to on the way to SF. She has used “he cried for his mother” about thirty times when describing someone’s fear but I can’t leave a story this far into it. It’s an illness, a compulsion, an embarrassing condition, like dandruff or BO.

I need to finish it no matter how bad or stupid or stinky it is.

That stupid cat is most definitely

out of the band.

I'm listening

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