Lonely Walk

Last night, I was out walking--not jogging, because Georgia, who hates cats and all their sleazy rituals, wasn't there to call me a pussy--and I noticed the usual tabbies and half-breeds were out in the warm evening, skulking through the grass, preening on the window sills. As always, when I came across the inevitable amorous couple, already "engaged," playing out their brief romance at the end of a driveway, I said very loudly, "Get a room."

But it just wasn't any fun without George.