What would Judi do?

 Happy Gotcha Day! Sophie has been with us for a year.  To refresh your memory, she came to us through my ex-husband who is friends with someone at a shelter in Baltimore.  Her owner moved to assisted living, he said.  The cat is 20 years old and will die in a shelter if you don't take her. First response:  fuck you.  Don't make me feel badly for a cat I've never met. Second response:  You suck.  I can't let a cat die in a shelter because his owner had to move to assisted living. We went to meet her, a firm NO already in my head.  The shelter-house was FULL OF CATS . She runs a shelter from her home.  Kittens were crawling up my leg.  Something that looked like a small tiger was eyeing me suspiciously and a freaky looking creature with no fur wanted attention.  No, no and no. Sophie was kept apart from the others until she had been checked out by the vet.  Andrew and I met her in a separate room, an office.  She was in a crate.  She finally came out, nuzzled us and purr

 It's kind of a weird feeling when I think about the fact that we've been quarantined for nearly a year in some form or another.  A year.  There have been other years that have left me keenly aware of the passage of time.  The year my children were born.  The difference between a newborn and a one year old are startling - and fun.  The first year of my separation when I thought my life was over when it was really just beginning - I was aware of time during that.  But most years float by without a lot of notice.  I can't help but notice the individual days of this year. Nearly every week, I have the same feeling:  time seems to be going by very slowly but I see the date and the days of the week fly by.  There's not a ton of difference between Monday, Thursday, or Saturday.  The only difference is why time I'm online, if at all.  And how many times I hit snooze on my alarm.  Or what I choose to cook - or the hissy fit I have (internally and sometimes outwardly) when n