Dear Suffragette Kitty fans!
February 18 is a very significant day around here.
It is the 1-year anniversary of Suffragette Kitty!
That is a big deal because, honestly, SK was begun on a whim last Feb. 18 when my pub was feeling completely dismal. A whole lotta mishegas was going on well before that and there was a stretch of months where the sun never seemed to be overhead.
We won’t bog you down with depressing details, but we will admit, that when I arrived on the scene just before Christmas 2012, she was none too pleased. She did not want another pet. Her beloved Tricky, a gorgeous tuxedo cat, died a few weeks earlier, before she could say goodbye. The year before Scoobie, the family shih-tzu, had to be put down after 14 1/2 years of stealing their hearts and all the shoes in the mudroom.
So when MAD broke the news of my imminent arrival one cold Saturday morning as she was running out the door to join friends for breakfast, she said, and we quote: “No cat. I do not want another cat. Absolutely no cat! No cat.” This put MAD in a quandary. I was already on my way there from Brooklyn, where I was rescued from an animal shelter.
Well, you know how that detail ended. I moved in with MAD. My publicist decided she had too many other things to do than pick a fight with MAD, who is otherwise an unconditional friend. She did change my name from whatever it was the shelter (or a previous owner) gave me to Louisa May Alcatt. She may not have been crazy about me, but she was always crazy about Louisa May Alcott.
January and February were pretty miserable, and we’re not talking about the weather. Last year at this time, MAD was busy doing something, she was staring at something on her laptop and I was staring at her.
“Stop staring at me,” she told me. (Actually, I think she may have yelled.)
I ignored her.
She said (yelled) again,”Stop staring.”
I stare because I have no better way of communicating.
Here’s how I saw things. I’m Louisa May Alcatt, a second iteration of the famous writer Louisa May Alcott, who wrote “Little Women,” on a pine slab nailed to a wall in the Orchard House in Concord, Massachusetts. My publicist lived within walking distance from Orchard House. She also had a career as a writer, primarily journalism.
Priorities shifted. Someone she never heard of was late for a meeting. they pressed pedal to metal, causing a horrific four-car crash. My pub’s husband was in one of the other cars and was seriously injured. It was hard to accept that one’s master plan can be shattered by a complete stranger – in a split second. A few years out and My pub still had not found her footing.
She did find MAD, or he found her. We’re not sure who found who first. I think they found each other. She was leaving a business as he was entering. Before they even met, they had their first argument: Who should hold the door open for the other? He won. He held the door and she walked through. There’s a lot of symbolism to unload here, so we’ll just leave it for another post. – BTW, This week they had a subsequent argument over who got to eat the last falafel. She won. (It was delicious!)
Moving on … or back. Last February she was annoyed at me for staring at her. “Write,” I kept trying to tell her. “Write.” But I can’t speak as a cat and have limited skills in charades. “Write.” “Write.” “Write.” Maybe telepathy will work: “Write.” “Write.” “Write.”
She seemed to be tuning in. She pulled up WordPress.com. Years ago she had a blog on there. It has gone dormant because she lost all the passwords. Start a new one? There’s a novel idea. But write down the passwords someplace you won’t lose them this time. What would we write about? Who knows? How about me, the first me, Louisa May Alcott? I did a lot in my first iteration. My pub has always been passionate about me. Let’s start there. So we started there and today we are here.
Many things have happened since. We learned that master plans can be very good guidelines, but may be redirected at any time by any one. We learned that some of the most powerful people in the world have overcome some of the most cumbersome obstacles. We learned that those who persevere end up someplace better than their expectations. We learned that some of our best posts were written on our worst days.
We also learned that a lot can happen in one year. Through this blog, we have “met” some fascinating people. We have just more than 300 followers, and honestly, we personally know 6 – as in “six” of you. We are thrilled you stop in from time to time. We have learned so much from you and your blogs. Who knew you were all out there? We are so glad you’re here.
We have no idea what the next year will bring, but only hope you’ll be part of it.