Friend of the Berries and Mondoville English alumnus Heather is seriously ailurophilic. I don’t recall precisely how many cats she has in her current menagerie, but it’s enough for me to call it a menagerie, so there you go. (Despite having numerous cats, majoring in English, and studying for a degree in library science, Heather is in fact quite social, and will be getting married fairly soon. Stereotypes: Debunked.)
Alas, she was down a member of the household for the last week, as one of the cats made a break for it, as they will sometimes do. She and I chatted about it a bit over the weekend, and while neither of us were especially hopeful, I said the usual things one says in an effort to be comforting. Still, she lives in a rather busy suburb of Real City, and the cat in question was lacking in outdoor experience, so the fact that it hadn’t turned up at a shelter or anywhere didn’t bode well.
But sometimes, things work out. When I accessed Facebook this morning, I was greeted by a picture of Heather and the cat that had been posted in the wee hours, with the caption, “Sausage is home!” (The cat’s name is Magick Sausage — did I mention Heather is colorful?)
So that’s good news, and a happy story for the first day of fall term is always welcome. But the flip side is that I’ve had this song — indeed, this version of this song — running through my head all morning, even as I was setting up my classroom and meeting my students. Because I’m cruel, I share it with you. From 1965, these are The Sting Rays.
And like the cat, I just can’t seem to stay away either.