Boocat.

Today the cat we inherited died. Next door left her behind on moving ten years ago and she's been ours ever since. She lived with us - I say lived, but it was more like tolerated us, she wouldn't come inside and instead resided in the clearly far more comfortable propagator all through the snowy Winters and the hot summers. 

She had no teeth at all, she only had two when we inherited her. I reckon she was about 16 or 17.  She was old and tired and skinny and cross but I liked her very much. 

Grumpy old cat.  She wouldn't really come and have a cuddle, although you could stroke her on her terms. But yesterday we managed to catch her, a feat in itself and so we knew something was wrong. She was dragging her leg so badly her paw was sore. The vet said massive ligament damage, no idea why, likely it's just snapped in her old age. Surgery was the only option but she was unlikely to benefit and anyway, trying to look after her outside whilst she recuperated would have been a nightmare. So no more Boocat. 

Goodbye lovely green-eyed yowly crosspants. I will miss you. 

The Perseids.

Last time the Persieds came the same thing happened; I ended up sitting in the park watching them on my own because you were angry, again, for who knows why, again. 

It was probably my fault. Again.

This time I sat there with a 15 year old boy who is rapidly growing up, learning to discern much earlier than he should the sudden signs of raging anger that come in you, the propensity to blame others for the feeling you can't deal with in yourself. He is starting to want to protect me, fighting you, swearing at you. 

A year ago today, give or take, the same feelings in you, give or take. A lack of ability to control them, and no desire to either. Another man; one that I don't know, don't much like and very much fear comes here instead of you, the same times each year in crashing cyclic waves.

I don't think there is a pattern you say. 

The Perseids would disagree, I say.