What kind of New Year’s party would it have been if a cat didn’t attend?
Lucky for us, two were there.
We celebrated the ending of one year and the beginning of another in fine fashion– with more sequins, jaw-harps, vegetarian snacks, and dance-downs than we could ever hope to use fully. Mike Shea and Christina’s apartment quickly became packed with all manner of friend-piles and two cats– Parker and Raymond– were there to ring in our New Year.
Raymond mostly hid, so these photos are only of Parker.
In the course of this year, we moved from a drafty borrowed apartment near the sea at the bottom of the world, to a warm fireside in southern Maryland, to a 2BR above a the best bike shop and the best bar alongside railroad tracks where our room lit up at night with train sounds, to the scrambled rocks and icy blue of the Pacific, to an apartment without utilities whose windows were unsecured, to our current dwelling– this rear-facing nest of scrubbed white walls and dim lamplight.
We began this year in an undulating horse meadow on the outskirts of some New Zealand farm in the town of Orepuki over the dune from Gemstone Beach. We ended it climbing sign posts on the streets of Brooklyn, before fireworks, with a grand selection of most of our closest friends.
We are stronger and more firmly tied together. We fed plants and touched anemones and began an MFA program and co-managed a Brooklyn bike shop. We had MRSA and cared for a cat and peed in the street in a remote corner of Newark in a display of utter desperation outside of our U-Haul truck with the red panda on the side. We graduated from college and travelled as much as we could afford and swam in two different oceans and collectively held six jobs.
This is us, and a sparkly dress, and a lemon. Love for you, from us.