Cartoon of a boy and girl in church. The boy says, “Have you noticed Easter isn’t funny, but it makes everyone smile?”
I drew this for the CHOGnews e-newsletter.
Cartoon of  a mom and a son. The mom says, “I don’t care if all the TV moms would let you do it. I won’t!”
Cartoon of a boy and a teacher. The boy says, “Today’s class was great. I’m glad I could fit this into my schedule.”
Cartoon of  a girl and a boy with a bottle for a head. The girl says, “Why do you bottle-up your emotions like that?”
I drew this for Illustration Friday. This week’s word is “bottled.”
Most days, I love to publish those cartoons. But today, I’m taking a little break in honor of a family member.
Most people either love or hate cats. I’ve never met anyone who straddles the fence on that one. I grew up with farm cats who were required to be spitfires and cunning predators if they were to survive. I didn’t hate them, but I didn’t exactly get warm and fuzzy when I thought about them.
About ten years ago, my five-year old daughter heard a pathetic mew coming from our front yard. She begged me to come with her to investigate. I knew what that sound was and I didn’t want anything to do with it. I was working a temporary job after being laid off. September 11 had happened. It didn’t feel like a good time to have another mouth to feed.
But I was overruled. When my daughter found that little kitten hiding in the wheel well of my car, it was an instant bond. I knew we were going to be cat owners. She named the kitten Emily. When we took her to the vet, we found out she was a he. She announced he would be Andrew.
Andrew became part of our family. He made cat lovers of the most hardened feline intolerant souls. He loved to cuddle up to each one of us. But of course, since he came from the outdoors, he always wanted back outdoors. We tried to make him an indoor cat, but he yearned to be free.
I wanted to wring his neck that first Christmas when he destroyed the tree. I growled at him when I pried a chipmunk from his jaw and had to get a tetanus shot because the little rodent held on to me like I was a sycamore. But for the most part, he was a loving, patient cat. Many friends and family would say how great of a cat he was. A few said they didn’t like cats, but they loved our Andrew.
When we got a dog, I wondered how he would react. For a while, he acted as if he had been dethroned. But he tolerated our new puppy and had developed an understanding with her. We couldn’t have asked for anymore than that.
Yesterday, I found our cat on the front porch. The cunning hunter had become the hunted. We lost a dear family member yesterday. So I suppose you may be able to understand if I don’t want to delve into some mirth today.
But wait a few weeks. You just may see some cartoons in honor of a certain feline with a taste for Christmas trees.