My stats inform me that people searching for “sad cats” are directed to my blog.

Here are some NON-sad cats, just to prove those google-searchers wrong but to welcome them anyway because I accept all the cat hits I can get.

Let ’em roll.

from Norah Besack, this cute shop, USA

Recently my cousin sent me a thrilling message:

Cousin- the boutique where I intern/work at just got a fresh shipment of chic- kitten patterned dresses this morning and I immediately thought of you.

I was completely fulfilled a few days later when she sent this little thang around.

It is certainly a little more street-ready than most of my cat clothing.

In response, Christie from South Berwick, Maine sent in this number, adding, “I HOPE FOR YOUR SAKE ERICA THEY LOOK LIKE THIS”:

It seems to me that I am not shopping in the correct places.

And here’s a bag I saw at a funeral once.

And this is the kind of cat I am today, from Cece, that place in New York, New York.

"catefficiency," Cece writes.

See? Me and these cats? We’re not sad! We’re fashionable, ruffled, literary, and lightning-fast with our household chores. We’re also home on our partial day off (only two hours of work today! Woohoo.) eating leftovers and wishing there was more coffee. We also have this sometimes paralyzing sense of not-good-enoughness, and an acute fear of being replaced that rears its head every now and then, most often when I have not much to do besides lie in my hot bed alone in the middle of the afternoon googling things that make me sad. Moreover, we have to scour every surface of our apartment and essentially burn each cloth item TODAY as to not spread infectious skin illnesses to our dear friends and their adorable babies.

Sad? Nah.

Things are great!

But seriously. This morning we slept in, woke up, and felt the cool morning breeze over tangled limbs. We threw on outfits from the piles on the floor and my funny sunglasses and rode bikes to the store, glinting in the sunshine.  We bought several fancy items and put them in our rucksack, and spent the remainder of our one morning together compiling the greatest egg-and-other-stuff bagels this town has ever seen and reading aloud from our book of essays.

Baby, it’s not so bad.

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About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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