Ten Years Ago

Beautiful Cat, Horrible Haircut (but the rest is nice)

Yesterday was Isabella’s Adoption Day, and somehow I forgot.

In my defense, my mind hasn’t exactly been firing on all cylinders lately. Between migraines, work, and worrying about Isabella’s recent health issues, June 18 slipped by without me realizing what day it was. It wasn’t until later that I remembered: yesterday marked ten years since I adopted Isabella.

Ten years ago, I walked into the local humane society and met a tiny black kitten they had named Bridget. She was frightened, hiding under a chair, and uncertain about the strange world around her. I knew almost immediately that Bridget wasn’t her name. My cats have always been named after queens. Victoria had already held that title in my life, and Elizabeth was out because that’s my sister’s name. But Isabella—Queen Isabella—seemed fitting. Regal. Strong. Memorable.

What I didn’t know then was how important Isabella would become.

When I adopted her in June of 2016, I was still trying to find my footing in Vermont. I had moved 1,200 miles from home, and the year before had been one of the most difficult of my life. I was grieving the loss of a dear friend and struggling with loneliness in a place that still felt unfamiliar. Isabella arrived at exactly the right moment.

She was timid at first. She hid under the bed, cried when I left the room, and seemed convinced that everything in the apartment was out to get her. But little by little, she grew more confident. Soon she was exploring every corner of the apartment and making herself completely at home.

Unlike some cats, Isabella is not especially vocal. Most of the time, she communicates without making a sound at all. She has a look for when she wants something. A look for when she’s annoyed. A look for when she’s judging me. She quietly meows in the mornings when it’s time for breakfast, becomes quite vocal when I return from a trip and she wants to tell me everything I’ve missed, and will call out if she can hear me but can’t see me on the other side of a door. The rest of the time, she somehow manages to make her wishes known without saying a word.

Over the years, Isabella has been my constant companion. She has greeted me when I came home from work, curled up beside me when I wasn’t feeling well, and kept me company through moments of joy and moments of heartbreak. She has been the steady presence waiting for me at the end of each day.

Lately, I’ve been reminded just how much she means to me. Her asthma diagnosis and recent cardiac testing have been a source of worry. Watching her struggle to breathe during an asthma attack was frightening, and waiting for answers has not been easy. The good news is that she has not had an asthma attack in several days, which gives me hope that the medication is helping. We still have an echocardiogram ahead of us, but for now I am grateful for every quiet day when she seems comfortable and content.

Today, Isabella is ten years older than the tiny kitten I brought home from the shelter. She’s still stubborn. She’s still opinionated. She’s still the queen of this castle. And despite all the gray hairs she’s probably responsible for giving me, I wouldn’t trade a single day with her.

Ten years ago, I thought I was rescuing a frightened little kitten.

The truth is that she rescued me too.

Happy Belated Adoption Day, Isabella. Thank you for ten wonderful years.

Pic of the Day

An Ordinary Thursday

Some mornings, I sit down to write this blog and know exactly what I want to say. Other mornings, the words come easily because something happened that I want to share. Then there are mornings like today when I stare at the blank screen and realize I don’t really have anything noteworthy to write about.

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Life doesn’t always provide dramatic stories, major milestones, or profound insights. Most of our lives are made up of ordinary days. We get up, feed the cat, drink our coffee, go to work, come home, and do it all again the next day. There is a certain comfort in that routine, even if it doesn’t always make for exciting blog material.

Today will be another day at the museum. There will be emails to answer, projects to work on, and the usual tasks that keep everything moving forward. Isabella will likely remind me several times that her food bowl is not nearly as full as she believes it should be. The migraine I’ve been dealing with is hopefully beginning to ease after yesterday’s Botox appointment, though experience has taught me that patience is often required.

Sometimes, simply making it through an ordinary day is enough.

So, if you’re reading this, I hope your Thursday is a good one. It doesn’t have to be remarkable. It doesn’t have to be productive beyond reason. It just has to be one more day lived, appreciated, and endured when necessary.

And perhaps that’s worth writing about after all.

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Waiting and Watching

I talked with Isabella’s veterinarian yesterday about her bloodwork results. Overall, the news was reassuring, though there are still a few things we need to investigate.

Her bloodwork showed a slightly elevated BNP, a heart enzyme that can sometimes indicate stress on the heart or other cardiac issues. It can also be elevated because of high blood pressure. Both the vet and I suspect that hypertension is the most likely explanation, but we want to be certain.

One thing that has become obvious is just how much Isabella’s asthma has been affecting her. When she has an asthma attack, I can see the fear in her eyes when she comes looking for me. On top of that, she has a pretty severe case of what we might call “white coat syndrome.” The trip to the vet was stressful for her. Strange people were handling her and taking her to unfamiliar places. Even the calmest cat would find that unsettling.

The good news is that her chest X-rays looked normal. The veterinarian reviewed them again to make sure nothing had been overlooked. I have a great deal of confidence in her judgment. She has been practicing veterinary medicine since 1983 and has decades of experience behind her. In fact, she is now semi-retired and even gave me her personal cellphone number in case Isabella’s condition worsens and I need to reach her directly.

To be thorough, we are going to schedule an echocardiogram to rule out any underlying heart disease. If there is a heart problem, we have likely caught it very early. Most cat owners do not receive that kind of warning. Often, heart disease is not discovered until it has progressed much further. The technician who performs the echocardiograms is supposed to call me today to schedule the appointment.

We have also increased Isabella’s steroid dosage because she has continued to have some coughing episodes. However, there is encouraging news on that front: this morning she did not have an asthma attack. Hopefully, that is a sign that the increased medication is already helping.

There is one other issue we are monitoring. Isabella has been licking a spot on her belly enough to create a bald patch. Excessive grooming is usually caused by either itchiness or anxiety. Since she has had no contact with other animals, fleas seem very unlikely. Both the veterinarian and I suspect that stress and anxiety related to the asthma are the more probable causes.

In other news, I am heading to Dartmouth this morning for my next round of Botox treatments for chronic migraines. I will admit that I am a little anxious because a new provider will be administering the injections this time. She is a physician rather than a physician assistant or nurse practitioner, and my past experiences with doctors giving injections have been mixed. Still, if she regularly performs Botox treatments, I am hopeful she has plenty of experience. I certainly need this treatment. I have been battling a migraine that has waxed and waned in intensity since Saturday night.

That is all I have for today. I hope everyone has a wonderful Wednesday.

Pic of the Day

Book of Statues

Book of Statues
By Richie Hofmann

Because I am a boy, the untouchability of beauty
is my subject already, the book of statues
open in my lap, the middle of October, leaves
foiling the wet ground
in soft copper. “A statue
must be beautiful
from all sides,” Cellini wrote in 1558.
When I close the book,
the bodies touch. In the west,
they are tying a boy to a fence and leaving him to die,
his face unrecognizable behind a mask
of blood. His body, icon
of loss, growing meaningful
against his will.

About the Poem

Richie Hofmann’s Book of Statues is a poem about beauty, desire, and the terrible cost of hatred. The speaker begins by contemplating classical statues, objects created to embody an ideal of human beauty. As someone who loves museums, art, and history, I am naturally drawn to these opening lines. The image of a young man sitting with a book of statues in his lap feels familiar to me. The statues are beautiful, but they are also distant and untouchable.

The poem’s opening phrase, “the untouchability of beauty,” struck me immediately. For many queer people, beauty can feel like something just beyond reach. We grow up admiring others while often feeling that our own desires must remain hidden. The statues represent not only beauty but also longing.

Then the poem shifts abruptly from the world of art to the reality of violence. The mention of a boy being tied to a fence and left to die recalls the murder of Matthew Shepard in 1998, a crime that became a symbol of anti-gay hatred. The contrast is jarring and intentional. One moment we are considering idealized bodies preserved in marble and bronze; the next we are confronted with a real body broken by cruelty.

The final lines are the most heartbreaking. The murdered boy’s body becomes an “icon of loss,” “growing meaningful against his will.” No one chooses to become a symbol. No one chooses to become a martyr. Yet throughout LGBTQ+ history, countless people have had meaning imposed upon their suffering because of the prejudice they endured.

For me, this poem serves as a reminder that Pride is not only a celebration. It is also an act of remembrance. We celebrate the beauty of being ourselves, but we do so knowing that others paid a price for the freedoms many of us enjoy today. Their lives matter not because of how they died, but because of who they were.

“Book of Statues” explores the intersection of beauty, art, queer identity, and violence. Hofmann begins with the contemplation of classical sculpture and the ideals of beauty that have captivated artists for centuries. The poem then moves suddenly into contemporary history, linking aesthetic admiration with the lived reality of LGBTQ+ people.

The reference to Benvenuto Cellini’s statement that a statue “must be beautiful from all sides” emphasizes the classical pursuit of perfection. Against that ideal, Hofmann places the image of a young man whose body becomes known not for its beauty but for the violence inflicted upon it. The poem asks readers to consider how societies value some bodies while devaluing others and how acts of hatred can transform ordinary lives into symbols.

About the Poet

Richie Hofmann is an American poet whose work often explores themes of beauty, history, desire, memory, and queer experience. He is the author of several acclaimed poetry collections, including A Hundred Lovers and Interpreter of Shadows. His poems frequently draw upon art, classical literature, and historical subjects while examining the emotional and social realities of contemporary life.

Hofmann’s poetry is known for its clarity, elegance, and restraint. Even when addressing painful subjects, he often writes with a quiet intensity that allows individual images to carry profound emotional weight. In Book of Statues, he brings together the worlds of classical art and modern queer history to create a poem that is both beautiful and deeply unsettling.

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Monday Decisions

The museum reopens today. The floor waxing was finished on Friday, and the floors needed the weekend to dry before we could return. After more than a week of working from home, I’ll be heading back into the office this morning.

Unfortunately, I’ve had a migraine since Saturday night. Despite taking all of my rescue medications, it seems to have gotten worse rather than better. At the moment, I’d much rather crawl back into bed than go anywhere. Still, after being away from the museum for over a week, I feel like I should be there when we reopen. I’m going to see how I feel after I’ve been up for an hour or so before deciding whether I need to call in sick.

It’s already shaping up to be a strange week. I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, Botox on Wednesday, an audiology appointment Thursday afternoon, and I’ll be working from home on Friday. Sometimes it feels like my calendar has a mind of its own.

One thing I’ve never gotten very good at is calling in sick. Even when I know it’s justified, I always seem to feel guilty about it. Perhaps that’s something I should work on. For now, I’ll finish my coffee, see how the migraine behaves, and make a decision from there.

Have a great Monday, everyone.

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