A very discouraging day. It appeared that overnight a mad posse of Zamboni drivers had attacked the city leaving every street unwalkably slick. At the post office there was a thin flier that our managers insisted be carried as a third bundle. Don't get me started on why that's a bad idea; I mean it, don't.
And that wasn't really even the depressing part. Our cat, Al has had cancer for the last few months, but he didn't seem to be suffering, so we just kept him at home and pampered him. A couple of days ago, though, he stopped eating or drinking, so we figured it was time to take him to the vet to be put down. When I got home from work yesterday, I went to check on him, but I couldn't find him, at first. Or even after a protracted search. This morning, however, when I came home for lunch on the way to my route, I did find him. He was in the street in front of our neighbor's house. There is no dignity left to us at the end. Because of the ice, he had frozen to the street. I spent my entire lunch break trying to pick him up, finally resorting to a hose and a shovel before I could pry him away.
Ancient Mesoamericans, let's say Aztecs, used to dip their feet in latex from rubber trees to make a form fitting shoe. They dipped their feet in it, they didn't roll in it. I've decided to treat self pity that way today. When I found Al, his eyes were open, his claws out, his legs outstretched. He was dashing home, and I choose to believe that he made it.