Chatty Catty

My humans have really lost it this time. Mother especially. She follows me around with her black rectangle in her hand, waiting for me to speak. Then she and father oooh and aaaah at the rectangle and tell me how wonderful I am. As if I’m not already aware!

The Road Well-Traveled

The hospice where my Mom died nearly two months ago reached out and offered me grief therapy, so I took it. I wanted to hear what would come out of me in a safe space, with a trained professional. I figured that would tell me how I was doing. I felt like I was coping okay. Lots of tears, but getting on with it. A wise man once said, “the last one to notice the water is the fish”. I’m the fish.

Miss Sugar shown from behind, sitting and watching something intently

Meeting Bumpy

I’d heard my human beans talking about someone named Bumpy. “When should we introduce Miss Sugar to Bumpy?”, one of them asked the other. “They should meet soon”, said the other. Who is Bumpy, I wondered. How could he be living in our home without me picking up his scent? It’s not easy being the only four-legged creature around here!


When I went to my Mom’s condo in early August for a visit from far-away relatives, I didn’t know how long I would be there. I had packed a bag a few times before, believing I would “know” when it was time to stay, and I did. It was clear. But I didn’t try to imagine when I would return home, because going home meant my Mom would be gone, and I wanted to put that off for as long as possible.

Miss Sugar curled up and looking off into the distance

Mom Came Home – Miss Sugar Writes

I don’t know where to begin, dear reader. I suppose I should start with my absence from this space. When Mother left and did not return home for many weeks, she also did not capture my Tuesday musings for publication. My tender age notwithstanding, I’m decidedly old school when it comes to technology, preferring to pass her my thoughts orally, one mewl at a time.

Derek and I holding cardboard cartoon smiles up to our mouths in a McDonald's

Come On Get Happy

I used to want to be famous. When I was a lot younger, I thought fame was a sure path to acceptance, adoration and financial freedom. I believed that fame washed away insecurities and flaws, leaving behind a shiny, beloved creature without a care in the world. I assumed it was how you got happy.