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The Fall Creeps In On Little Cat Feet

My apologies for stealing my title from
Mr. Sanburg, but it’s such a delicious line.

So I’ve been peripherally aware that fall – and all the
hectic scheduling and harried life-pace with which it’s
invested – has been fast approaching. But I keep trying to
ignore it, choosing to do the bare minimum to keep us on track:
buying a backpack and lunch bag for my youngest as she prepares to
go to school for the first time. Hitting the outlet mall to pick up
first-day-of-school outfits. This sort of thing.

For the most part, though, I’ve been
successfully pushing the whole summer-is-almost-gone concept way,
waaaaaaaaaaay out of my head; instead, I’ve been determinedly
enjoying our last fling with summer as the girls and I put on shows
(but of course), laze away entire mornings at the pool, bake
together, and lie around reading books. Lots of books.

But yesterday fall came padding into my life on quiet little
kitten’s paws: one minute I’m standing in my kitchen,
blissfully eating summer raspberries, and the next thing I know,
I’ve turned around and there’s a brindly,
orange-and-brown cat smiling enigmatically at me, smelling of
burning leaves and wood-burning stoves and sounding faintly like
marching bands and pep rallies.

How did this happen? How did my calendar begin to look full to the
point of begging for mercy? When did I start staring into my
freezer thinking, “I’d better make some meals in
advance for those nights when I’m working”? At what
point did those backpacks and school folders commence their creep
from the girls’ respective closets where they were safely
tucked away (tags still on), down the stairs, to sitting ominously
by the back door?

When did we start needing socks again?

Fall’s not here yet: I have one last, glorious week with my
girls and we are going to gorge ourselves on pool-wallowing and
trips to the movie theatre and long mornings in our pajamas.

But I hear fall, just over my shoulder, and its purring cannot be

Stupid cat.


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