In a few days’ time, it will be my cat, Ellie’s, birthday. On April 28th she will be 10 years old.  I never thought I would see her live that long, what with her asthma and all. I thought I would be lucky to have her reach her 6th birthday. But there you are. You never know. Life.

A few days after that, it will be my birthday. I am only acknowledging 45 years old, you understand. Along with the idea to keep on moving as I stand under nothing stronger than a 3-watt bulb, my real age is my secret and mine alone. The same with my weight. I don’t even think the FBI has this information and if they do, I hope they are gentlemanly enough to keep it to themselves. Even if they’re ladies.

Besides, age is a mental thing, anyway, right? And I am absolutely mental. Anyone will tell you. And I am as young as I feel. Unless I am trying to use senior day to get into a movie for 6 bucks a throw. Then the number is very real. I will proudly show my driver’s license to anybody behind the ticket counter on that day. Of course, the kid looking at it is probably 18 years old at most. They feel the pyramids and I have much in common. Only the pyramids look a lot better. In any event, Happy Birthday to Ellie and me.