Mom sailed into the room and went straight to my closet.
“Why are you hiding wine in your closet?!”
“I’m not hiding it. I buy bottles in case I need wine for parties.”
She groped a purple dress on its hanger. “What’s this?!?”
“A shirt. Why are you poking around in my closet?”
She turned to me. “I had a dream that you were hiding our checkbook in your closet. We order checkbook. They haven’t come in the mail yet.”
“Are you hiding them in your closet?”
“Yes,” I said. “Why would I hide your checkbooks in my closet?”
“It was in my dream,” she replied.
Two orange tabby brothers followed us home in December. They lived with us for five weeks, snuggling, wrestling, running around like madmen and punching each other in the face, until their owners saw our “found” signs (which had been posted in front of their house for weeks).
Chupa misses them a ton. They shredded furniture, ate Kolinsky brushes and laptop screens, farted intense farts on our laps, pawed wet paintings and shoved my brush around whenever I painted, but they were cute and soft fuzzballs.
Several years ago, Mom and I visited Japan during cherry blossom season. While there, Mom found out that her mom had cancer and was awaiting surgery in the hospital.
That night, Mom lay on the bed in our room at the ryokan. “Emmie, my mom is sick . . . what if I lose her?” she asked.
I tried to think of something kind and comforting to say.“Well, she is 86,” I said.