The one word that M-man uses with consistency is go.
He says it as he climbs the stairs, walks across the room, and when I put him on the bike. It is really cute and could be taken as his current motto.
“Go! Go! GO!”

16 Septembers ago, my boyfriend at the time and I went to the Lincoln County Animal Shelter in Edgecomb, ME, to get a kitten. I wanted a puppy, but was talked into a kitten. Begrudgingly, I agreed, but I set parameters; only a grey or orange kitten would do. No run of the mill stripy cats for me, thank you very much. There were no grey or orange kittens. We spent a long time standing in the kitten room discussing our options. One persistent little tabby started by rubbing himself against my ankles, then he jumped into my folded arms, and finally jumped from the windowsill to my shoulders and draped himself across me like a shawl. Despite the fact that he wasn’t anything I had imagined, we took him home.

Clifford loved pumpkin from the first day we took him home. I have no kitten pictures online, but here is a cat-pumpkin picture.

We had just returned from a Phish festival called the Clifford Ball. After much deliberation, we decided that was his name. Clifford was the funniest kitten. His favorite perches included the top of the bookcase, the refrigerator, and my shoulders. He had the loudest purr ever. Always a bit doglike, he was the best cat for me.

He has been with me all these years. He traveled to Maryland with me when I left Maine. On warm spring nights you could find him curled up on the windowsill, of my first Baltimore apartment, talking to everyone as they walked by. He was here through the addition of first another cat, then a dog, a husband, and two children. Through it all he remained his funny quirky dog-like self.

I thought I was going to lose him almost two years ago, when he rapidly went from 21 lbs down to almost 8 lbs. The vet told me that he either was in acute kidney failure and would probably die, or he was diabetic and could be fixed right up. It turned out to be diabetes and he lived almost two more happy years.

Sunday, March 17th. I woke up to Clifford screaming. I found him shaking in a pool of urine. I cleaned him up and we went off to the emergency vet with my mother. He had several seizures on the way there. The vet thought it might be related to his diabetes, so I went home while they ran some tests and observed him. Later they called me to tell me that he wasn’t responding to the anti-seizure medication. I then made the decision to put him down.

My friend came and got me and we went to the vet. Poor Clifford continued to have seizures until the very end. He purred when he heard me talk to him. As much as it hurt to put him down, it was a relief to see him at peace from the seizures. The vet was amazing and helped me feel good about my decision.

When I came home, I had to tell Ada that Clifford had died. Gently, I explained that Clifford had been very sick, and the doctors tried to fix him but could, and that he had died which meant he was no longer alive and wouldn’t ever come home. I also told her that Tilly, our other cat, and myself were both really sad, and that it was okay to be sad. I asked her to be kind to Tilly. She said, “Okay, Mom, I’m hungry. I wasn’t sure how much she understood. This morning she woke up to find Tilly at the end of the bed. From the other room I heard “Morning Tilly, you sad. It’s okay to be sad. Clifford was very sick, sorry you so sad”. My heart melted.

My 22 year old self thought she would live in the mountains. Then she fell in love, moved into a tiny apartment, got a better job, moved by the sea, and fell out of love. By then I was 25 and a bit jaded, and looking for a real teaching job. In a move that surprised everyone, including myself, I headed to Baltimore. I knew nothing about Baltimore, save what I learned on a few episodes of Homicide.
The first few years were hard. I had to make new friends, and learn to lock doors. I took adventures but they were mostly outside of the city. The years passed and I bought a house, made a network of friends and settled in. I discovered the Sunday market, learned to drink beer, and adopted a dog. I got to know the teenagers of this city who had a much different outlook on this city than I did. They began to frame the way I see violence and poverty. I taught them what I could. Got my heart broken several times, by children I cared for, who were lured by the call of violence, money, and gangs. Another was taken by the river. My heart sung when several grew up to become productive members of society and hung their heads outside their trucks to yell my name, or cut me off in traffic so they could tell me they got into college.
I met my neighbor, who later became my husband, and had a daughter. WIth her I saw I side of the city that I hadn’t known before. We joined a strong network of families, who choose to live here. We began to attend museums, festivals, and story time. Then my son was born, and we settle even more into the community. Soon we will face hard decisions about schools and I will return to work, with the kids I love and miss. Through all of it one thing has remained true. I love Baltimore, more than I ever imagined, warts and all.

Shannon has been reading A-cat Moby Dick, after reading her two picture books, but before singing, at bedtime. I am not sure why, but she seems to like it. Shannon told me about a conversation they had that went like this:

A- Who is Queequeg?

S- He’s Ishmael’s friend, a harpooneer.

A- What’s a harpooneer.

S- It’s a person who carries a harpoon, which is like a spear, and hunts whales

A- To kiss them?

S- Something like that.

Then tonight she told her brother that he was Queequeg, and that they were going to hunt whales. We asked her who she was and she responded, “Mishmael,” and then ran off to her boat.

Mishmael on her boat

Update: We decided that she was understanding too much, so Shannon abandoned this book for another one.