Couldn’t she stay in Boca with her grandkids for just a little longer? Maybe permanently? Is that too much to ask for? I guess so. Well, Ethel’s back and you could smell her a mile away, but that’s not the worst of it. Of course she’s got all kinds of new cat stories that she’s just itching to share. Now her sights are fixed on me. Why….? Why me? This is no way to spend my golden years, I can tell you. All the aches and pains are bad enough, but to have to put up with Ethel even for five minutes. Actually, it’s never for just five minutes. Once she’s in, she never leaves. Like a resistant infection in a sweltering jungle. You can’t get rid of it. And, oh, how the combination of synthetic gardenia and cat urine is especially fragrant today. I think the air conditioning isn’t working again. It’s always the same…. ‘Let me tell you about my kitties,’ she says. Then it spirals out of control from there. All one can do at that point is pray for a quick death. Any death as long as it’s fast. Hell, I’d take getting shredded by a rabid velociraptor over story time with Ethel any day and twice on Sunday. But, I’m not blessed with such an outcome. She’s in my room and she’s not about to leave. email: [email protected] web: www.michaeloster.com