The Cat, Part II

The electric opener made quick work of the canned fish. I carefully drained the water and emptied the contents into a small bowl. Without thinking much about it, I added the chopped eggs, mayonnaise, pickles, and a dash of mustard while the bread toasted. For the second time this week, I was having a tuna sandwich for lunch. I glanced at the inventory in the pantry. I had bought far too much for a phantom feline that either had no fondness for it or was off on an adventure elsewhere. Somebody had to eat it, and that somebody was me. I have gotten several texts and messages asking about the mysterious cat. Let’s face it: everyone wants a story to have an ending, preferably a happy one. This

The Mystery Cat

The package of hamburger buns had been ripped open with two partially eaten. Crumbs were scattered all over the kitchen counter and onto the floor. Only two of us live in this house. I knew that I certainly hadn’t made the mess. I sighed as I went in search of my husband. “Did you get hungry in the middle of the night?” I asked, trying to disguise my annoyance. “No. Why?” “It seems that somebody was in a hurry to get into the buns last night and didn’t bother to clean up the crime scene. Wasn’t me. Had to be you.” He shook his head. “Nope. Can’t confess to something I didn’t do.” I shrugged and returned to the kitchen. The scullery maid duties usually fall to me. I retrieved the broom

The Prescription

The call came before I had poured my first cup of coffee, but I promptly answered since I had been waiting for it for several weeks. The voice on the other end of the line was polite and professional. I laughed nervously as we exchanged pleasantries. She was from the specialty pharmacy, and she had my fate in her hands. You see, the last time I completed chemo, I had gleefully celebrated my remission status. I firmly believed that I was done, finished, cured. I naively thought that my biggest challenge in the months and years ahead would be growing hair and losing the steroid weight. I was wrong. So this time, when my doctor suggested a maintenance drug, a parp inhibitor that offered the pos

I'm Back

It is almost Halloween. Ghouls and goblins and pumpkins are readily available for purchase in the stores. Oh, and ghosts, of course. I have always thought of ghost as a noun. She thought she saw a ghost. Or an adjective. He loved to tell ghost stories. But recently, it has made its way into the urban dictionary as a verb. I thought we were friends, but she ghosted me. It means to suddenly disappear. And I guess I did that with this blog. Gee, I am sorry. When I finished the last post to be included in Still Ovacoming, I thought I would take a short break. Treatment had been difficult and a bad case of chemo brain made writing coherently a real challenge. Besides, I imagined, folks had to be

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