We all know that women are goddesses. We possess this quality of grace and sophistication, loveliness and wonder. We smell like the color pink. We’re adorable. We have the cutest laugh. We are spunky and lovable.
My cat, Cova, is clearly female.
As we’ve grown accustomed to our shared living space, Cova has shown all the signs that she is a lady—unapologetically so, as all ladies do.
“So, Rebekah, what are you doing later?” Daniel asks me.
The clock on my phone reads 9:45pm. I squint at Daniel like he’s lost his mind. “What do you mean later?”
I blink three times, slowly. I planned on scurrying home and brewing a fresh mug of chamomile. I planned on stretching out the tendonitis in my wrists and wishing the cat sweet dreams. I planned on tidying my shoes and checking the status of my teeth. I planned on saying my prayers.
This was about the point I realized: I am a twenty-something grandma.