We lost Samson one year ago today. Reading through his tribute today turned me into a puddle of trickling tears. We have since had two other cats. Both James and I have had a hard time connecting with them–one of them has since been returned to the shelter because of some anxiety issues that led to her attacking me, and also for lack of bladder control when it came to actually peeing anywhere near the litter box. The other one is still with us (see picture below), but well. . . she’s just not the same and never can be. She’s kind of just there. I accidentally call her Samson constantly. Still. After a year of not having him. It’s obvious that Belle hasn’t actually joined our family yet. We have had her for seven months, and she is still referred to mostly as kitty around here. I feel terribly about it, but it’s true–trying to get another cat to replace the first just wasn’t a success.

So, Samson–don’t worry. We haven’t cheated on you. I can see his little corner plot from my window and I just wish his orange mass of friendly fur was cuddled on top of my feet right now instead of wrapped up underground in his favorite red blanket.

Belle- in all her chubbiness.

Now that I am a blubbering mess, can I just tell you that I am in love with the pictures we took last night? I directed everyone to the couch, we piled ourselves in a heap, and I set the camera timer. Oh, how I love my family. My favorite one is the one I posted last night. . . but these two are right up there on my list.

And look at this–I actually had my picture taken by another photographer. It was completely free, mind you, and she was an angel for doing it. She gave digital copies to all the women in my mom’s group. Since we are usually the ones always behind the lens.

If I had only known she was going to be there. I would have tried to fix my hair into something that looked decent. And I most definitely would not have worn a bright orange t-shirt that I tried to hide while throwing an equally awful blue zip-up hoodie thing over it to try to cover it up. Ah well . . .at least it’s a picture of me. Where I’m smiling. And don’t look forty pounds heavier than I’d like to be.

We’re just chugging along here the week after spring break. With James gone, and the workload of keeping everyone happy and the house picked up resting on me, I can say that the latter of the two is suffering something awful.

But at least we’re all happy. That’s what matters most, right?