Moss: Part I

Lazz has only been sharp to me once in our decade of friendship. In high school he was the epitome of sweet. Syrup person. His face was always a perfect reflection of concern, and he gave out a lot of backrubs, sometimes for an entire movie. He was my senior prom date (asking me via cookie cake) and gave me a birthday present ( a Christopher Durang collection) even though he couldn't come to the party.

Over the years he remained this magical leprechaun of cuteness even though I saw him once in a blue moon. My freshman year of college I heard from George that he was still working at the candle store in the mall and she happened to see him leaving late one night right before Christmas. He had his headphones in and was dancing on the long long trek from the front doors to the auxiliary holiday staff parking. He sent me a hand-drawn birthday letter one year and even surprised me at college by showing up for the fall play. He's a good dollop, is what I'm saying.

I was visiting him at school a few years ago. It was summer, but he stayed in the po-dunk town to work at a Mexican restaurant and hang out with his frat brothers. We went on a Saturday afternoon walk through the woods by his house. There was a small creek, so we walked across it holding a fallen tree. I steps gently on a stone because I saw it was mossy. Lazz followed behind, stepping less gently, and he slipped awkwardly nearly plunking himself into the water. "It's slippery!" I yelped. "I see that," he hissed. It was so sharp I nearly feel off my current rock for no reason. Then he said, "Sorry." Then he started singing an Aimee Mann song.

Sweet Brown Kitty

The family cat passed away this week. She was twenty years old. She was born into a chaos of siblings, shuffled to our quiet shack, and given a partner/boss cat. She chirped like a mouse, her namesake. She was useless in catching bugs, but she did fit my hamster into her mouth once. Unlike her shifty roommate she despised the outdoors. She'd just rather not. If held to a lightbulb, she would lick it. She was a fat cat, gobbling up everything, including a basket full of Easter grass, but this past year after I took her to the cat salon for a shave, I realized she had gotten quite tiny. Itsy bitsy bird bones and shivery scalp. She was missing teeth and yowled at two in the morning like a cat pirate.

In cars she complained the whole time. She learned a cottage twice, but she spent her last days with my dad quite constantly living to jump into his arm chair as soon as he stood up. Toasty seats make good cat beds.

I don't have a favorite memory of Mouse. I guess I liked when we put a pumpkin onesie on her and she just laid on the couch like a festive slug. We never had a bond. She was just sweet and frumpy and a little clueless. I will miss her.

You can sort of be bird-brained and even a little gross, but people will still like you if you're just nice and generally happy it's another day.