Cat: water form

The cat did it better 😳

㋡🥀

Cat: water form

In the future, children will think our ways are strange. "Why do old people always grow so much milkweed in their gardens?" they'll say. "Why do old people always write down when the first bees and butterflies show up? Why do old people hate lawn grass so much? Why do old people like to sit outside and watch bees?"

We will try to explain to them that when we were young, most people's yards were almost entirely short grass with barely any flowers at all, and it was so commonplace to spray poisons to kill insects and weeds that it was feared monarch butterflies and American bumblebees would soon go extinct. We will show them pictures of sidewalks, shops, and houses surrounded by empty grass without any flowers or vegetables and they will stare at them like we stared at pictures of grimy children working in coal mines

We will be feeding our grandchildren strawberries and raspberries we grew in our gardens, dragging them along to the farmers' markets for tomatoes and eggs and goats milk and pickles and pecans and salsa and sunflower seed butter and jars of honey, as they complain and drag their feet because Gramma always stands around talking to people for like an HOUR

and we will say "When I was YOUR age, fruits and vegetables came from a supermarket and they were bred to get shipped 1000 miles in a truck and sit on shelves for weeks, and they tasted so sour and watery it was like eating paper compared to these ones. It wasn't even legal in some places to grow your own food"

and they will roll their eyes like yeah yeah just because everything was miserable in the 20s doesn't mean I have to have a smile on my face standing in the hot sun while you listen to that one guy talk about his bees FOREVER

But they will go, because there might be baby goats.

Since I made this post, dozens and dozens of people have left tags telling me that it was the first thing today that made them want to continue living, that it was the first thing that made them consider that they might be okay years in the future, that they might grow old, that it was the first and only post of its kind they'd ever seen—the first post that boldly predicts a future where we make it.

And many other people have been just spitting, foaming at the mouth fucking FURIOUS. How dare I have the audacity to imagine a future where things get better?

Don't I know how BAD things are? Am I not aware of the TERROR and DEVASTATION of climate change and fascism and biodiversity loss? How dare someone be so bold, so callous, as to imagine something other than misery and suicide. How dare someone suggest it will get better. How dare a person propose that there is a future where we will be okay, in the face of so much terror. Hasn't she seen the abyss opening its jaws before us?

Well? What do you think?

Do you think I've seen the abyss?

Knitting.

This is a public service announcement.

Well, this is sort of a public service announcement. It's an announcement serving the great and the good of the #knitting public, to be precise. If this public includes your fine self, then boy, have we got news for you. 

Knitting is trending. Knitting is up there, in fact. So we are putting the usual on the backburner for today: no Pedro Pascal, no farmcore, no Riverdale, no Dimension 20, no David Tennant, no The Sims 4, and no dark f*cking academia. This one is all about you: you good folk with your yarn in one hand and needles in the other. For today is your day, your moment in the sun.

However you chose to celebrate is very much at your discretion, but we would hope you do so by doing what you do best, and, say, knit the pink trending icon or something. If you are a knitter not yet in Tumblr's vast community of cuddly autumnal creators, or if you simply appreciate this wonderful craft, welcome. Make yourself at home.  

Morir soñando, sí, mas si se sueña

morir, la muerte es sueño; una ventana

hacia el vacío; no soñar; nirvana;

del tiempo al fin la eternidad se adueña.

Vivir el día de hoy bajo la enseña

del ayer deshaciéndose en mañana;

vivir encadenado a la desgana

¿es acaso vivir? ¿y esto qué enseña?

¿Soñar la muerte no es matar el sueño?

¿Vivir el sueño no es matar la vida?

¿A qué poner en ello tanto empeño?:

¿aprender lo que al punto al fin se olvida

escudriñando el implacable ceño

-cielo desierto- del eterno Dueño?

Marilyn Monroe by Richard C. Miller, 1946

And this is how a human gets adopted by a cat

So talented