One year ago, we lost my good boy of twenty years. He wasn’t the first cat we lost (we love you, Loki and Nyka), but he was the first I raised from a baby (with all respect to Jooky – my first boy, who stayed with my parents when I left home. Also a good boy and king shedder – at least until we got Mazy).

I got Magnus at six weeks, and for the next nearly twenty-one years, he curled up in my lap and as tight as he could in bed, in between terrorizing everyone else.

Most people thought you were the devil, and you certainly could be a real dick, but I loved you. I’m sorry that doctor gave you a clean bill of health, when you were clearly on your way out.

I miss you, buddy. We’ve gotten a new cat and two new dogs (dogs!) since you’ve been gone, and we love them to death, but nothing can ever really replace the unlimited and unconditional love you brought me. You would have loved Mazy; she probably would have reminded you of that neighbour’s boxer Dakota you loved when you were a kitten.

You still exist, in my mind; as long as the memory of you lives, and your atoms are floating around, you’re still here. Maybe the religious folks will be right and there is something beyond this life, and you can curl up in my lap in the hereafter.

Target: 200 words
Written: 1517 words, short story: Get Back Again

Read: Start With Why, Simon Sinek
Comics: Fanboys Vs. Zombies 1-4
Music: Year Zero, Nine Inch Nails (the real deal now)

I don’t like to think about the past. The past has some fun memories, but mostly those only come up with friends (which rarely happens anymore) and usually revolves around someone (as often me as anyone) doing something very stupid.

I admit to missing those days; when memories of fun, dumb things weren’t things to recall, but things actively happening.

I also remember doing things without thought; most of those memories are rife with shame.

Indeed, a look back on the life I’ve had is to see one filled with waste and regret, myopic, self-deceptive and toxic behaviour, stupid decision after stupid decision justified by the flimsiest of ego-driven excuses.

Some would tell me to focus on the positives of the past – the friends, the adventures, the good times. It’s not terrible advice, but I’ve always been poor at connecting and when I was young, I was so delusional with insecurity (and hiding insecurity) that almost everything I did was fraught.

Some would tell me to forget it; I’ve learned from it. Time to move on with new lessons.

This has more value; what’s done is done. The only thing left is to learn.

Still, the sheer embarrassment of it all, the shame of my own stupidity…

These aren’t the things we laugh about. They’re the things we want to leave in the dust, but remain tied to us like anchors in the ground.

Target: 200 words
Written, 666 words, short story: Get Back Again

Read: 5 Steps To Controlling High Blood Pressure, Mayo Clinic
Comics: The Strange Talent Of Luther Strode 1-4
Music: Question The Answers, Mighty Mighty Bosstones (that's fucking soulmusic right there - spaceless intended)