DEAR ITALO

Oh, Italo.  You are the sweetest, most rascally cat.  I love it when you run to greet me in the morning, mewing like you haven't eaten in years while I try to unlock the front door.  I don't love it when you leap into the midst of a display that Jessica has meticulously arranged, batting about the spinning tops (Who can blame you, really? They scream, "Bat me about!") and knocking aside balls of twine.

Today you came into the store with a warrior's wound on your tail.  I wonder what your life is like out there in the world, Italo.  Do you circle Mirth's perimeter, fiercely guarding our borders from less feeling cats, ones who wouldn't appreciate round balls of twine and fun wooden tops?  Occasionally, a visitor will worry about you, ask if it's all right for you to leave the store and wander off on your own.  Even strangers are immediately charmed.

"It's all right," I say.  "She comes and goes."

I like to think, though, you're always keeping us Mirthlings in mind, pondering the new shiny things on the shelves, the flowers in the window.  Here's to you, Italo, most splendid of store cats. 

-Claire for Mirth