Thinking again about seeing “Cats” in the Macy Parade.  Kind of an odd coincidence.  Wednesday afternoon after I had shopped and cleaned until I had dropped, taken a shower, ready to crash…horrors, I realized I had forgotten to buy non-stick cooking spray and had about one spritz left in the one in my pantry.  How on God’s green earth can you cook any meal, let alone a Thanksgiving meal, without cooking spray.  But no way I was going back out.  So, yesterday morning, realizing the only grocery open at 6AM was the Winn Dixie at the foot of Veterans near by old neighborhood, I streaked out there in the dark to buy some. By the time I emerged, it was light, and the air smelled of pine trees I couldn’t trace.  But it was the light in the morning, gray, and perfectly Thanksgiving, that reminded me of holidays long ago, so, although I wanted to get dinner cooked by the time the parade was on, I drove back through my old neighborhood that oddly enough driving through the streets still made me feel that I was going home.  Drove past Metairie Plaza, which was really a lovely complex that Mom managed and kept maintained beautifully.  She had popcorn trees planted that are no longer there; the place is getting really run down and not cared for–the shingles are stained, the soffet (spelling?) around the rooftops on some of the buildings are cracked and breaking off; doesn’t look  the same as when Mom ran things.  But it did me good to see it again, remembered all the happy Christmases and Thanksgivings celebrated there in a rush almost.

I mention “Cats” in this because, as I watched the parade yesterday, and the actress performing “Memory” made me cry, I vivdly remembered Grizabella, the black cat stray who lived in the rain gutters outside our place in MP, that I semi-adopted by putting out cat food for her.  She was really a beautiful, big black cat and poor thing every year she bore a little of kittens, all of which were beautiful.  I named her Grizabella because that’s who she reminded me; I used to put her food out in the fenced paint bin that adjoined our back patio.  Well, as that was over thirty years ago, Grizabella has definitely entered the heavy side layer by now, and her offspring, one batch of which chose Morris for a granddaddy.  May she, and they, and he, all rest in peace.  I’m not a cat person, but I loved that cat, eeven if I never got close enough to even pet her.

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