In whatever passes for excitement at this point in the story of my life, I missed it.
My late and ex always celebrated the days on which our cats entered our lives; he bought cards and inscribed them, and I still have most of them. He would have liked Agatha.
Two years ago she was a tweenager in heat rolling in the mulch outside my cellar window. She is still kittenish, but self-willed. There is no more determined hairdresser in the world.
Monday of Memorial Day weekend, forever: Agatha Day.