By the way, it’s fun and wonderful and all that yada yada, whatever, BS living with M., but I am apparently pining for an unattainable pure love. A love for which I will likely die not having reached even its shadow.

Yesterday, while driving through SF’s North Beach area (that wacky chunk of history that always makes me picture the Beats walking out of the City Lights Bookstore and into a steamy coffeehouse or seamy bar and now is just full of regular folks and tourist eating mediocre Italian), driving through North Beach we saw a couple, a man and a woman, each wearing headbands with cute, little kitty ears. Together in a couple-y, adorable, happy, smiling, kitty-loving way.

I yearn to be so much in coupledom that wearing matching kitty ears seems like a fine idea.

Alas, it has been pointed out to me, such a life is not meant to be mine. I asked M. if he loved me enough to wear kitty ears with me. Without hesitation or equivocation, he quire firmly replied “No.”

More kindly he explained, “I don’t like cats.”