for days, even weeks, at a time I’ll forget to open the curtains in my bedroom. for one thing, I don’t spend a whole lot of time in there during the day. for another, the curtains are semi-translucent, so it’s hardly dark in the room. but there’s a big difference between direct and indirect light, and I know it, even if I tend to forget about its importance through busyness and neglect. neglect, in particular, of charlie the cat. I mean, I don’t single him out for neglect or anything—hardly, in some ways he’s even my favorite (tho I don’t like to advertise the fact around the others). I’m simply prone to extensive albeit unintentional neglect of those I love, and it’s always been that way. I’m dramatically periodic in my attentions—when I remember to do so, I’m all about the cuddle and wide-eyes-only-for-you—but the truth is, I’m in this space rather infrequently. far too infrequently for my ex-husband, let me tell you. and the evils of this tendency in the current case are compounded by the fact that charlie the cat lives most of his time upstairs, in my bedroom. so, you know, he doesn’t literally get to see much light of day. fortunately, my most excellent $1 armchair from the auction sits right by the best window in the bedroom and makes for an optimal snuggle spot when I do (appropriately enough, on a sunday) get recalled to my senses and scoop him up for a few minutes’ injection of love. and its lovely and easy enough to reach up and snag the curtain back behind the iron holder, so we can bask in the bath of light together. I mean, for gracious sakes, it’s no wonder the poor cat is so durn fat—he’s probably deeply depressed.

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