A note would mean more

I never thought I’d say it, but enough with the kittens! Every time I open my email I find that somebody has sent me yet another photo of kittens. Yes, they’re cute. Yes, they often make me smile, but I am suffering from an overdose of cuteness. Any time I think the kittens have retreated, they claw their way back onto my screen again, looking unbearably sweet and sometimes funny.
These messages are often accompanied by cute puppy and dog photos and cartoons. It must be a conspiracy. The animals also invade the political messages that make me want to scream, “Get a life, people. Kittens and puppies won’t make me like your choices any more or less than I already do.” Plus I don’t believe for a minute that all the tear-jerking stories that are bundled with these emails are real.
If I want to see a cute kitten, all I have to do is find Gracie, our calico cat, and look at her. True, she hasn’t been a kitten for a long time now, but she is still cute. And she does race madly around the house chasing invisible foes on occasion.
If I want to read a story that will bring tears to my eyes, all I have to do is read any newspaper in the country. We have a tendency to be unbearably cruel to each other. I would rather save my sympathy for a real victim than cry over what appears to be a made-up tale.
I’m done ranting now.
I took my mother to the doctor the other day. There was nothing wrong with her. Or at least that is what they told us. Her heart rate was bouncing all over the place but the doctor didn’t seem to be concerned about that or any of her other complaints.
When we left the office she felt the same frustration and irritation that I feel when I see yet another kitten, puppy or political message lurking in my email.
I tried to tell her that doctors don’t know everything; that just because they can’t find anything wrong, doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything wrong; and that they are just people like you and me. She wasn’t having any of it.
I did not tell her that as we get older things start malfunctioning. The choices of a lifetime come back to haunt us. I did not tell her that genetics are the cause of many of our personal woes. I merely listened and sympathized.
In order to assuage our frustration we stopped at a local greenhouse and kidnapped some flowers. I planted hers after we got back to her house. Then I gave everything a thorough soak. She was still a little disgruntled when I left but the flowers were happy.
After a long trip home, I deposited my captives in a flowerbed beside the driveway. They protested by drooping pitifully. A good dose of water the next day revived them and they are now pretending to be happy living in their new home that is nowhere near the driveway.
I would much rather be digging a hole for a new plant than checking email. However, I find the siren song of my computer to be irresistible. There is always the possibility of an actual message from a friend or a picture of a grandchild. Messages are few and far between. Pictures of grandchildren come in waves interspersed with long periods of nothing but cute kittens, adorable puppies, political messages and made-up stories designed to provoke a tear.
Is it too much to ask for a short note instead of yet another cute kitten? Apparently it is.[[In-content Ad]]