I suppose I should be glad that I'm not yet another self in another universe who didn't even buy a can of beans, or forgot the tortilla chips or cheese, or both. That me is such an ass. Look! He's wearing a red beret with a gold lamé jacket, and no pants! What the hell is he thinking?
In this universe, the feral cats have eaten every cicada that has appeared on the back porch this year. I've seen a couple of cicadas buzzing around the porch light at night, but their cadavers are nowhere to be seen the next day. The only explanation is that the cats are devouring them. I'm not sure it's the feral cats, of course. It might be the black cat from across the street, who has taken to spending more and more time in my back yard, but at least one cat must have a taste for cicada, and it isn't Portia, who doesn't go out back. Whichever kitty is disposing of them, I'm grateful, and happy to have been relieved of the onerous task of removing big insect bodies from the sink every day for a week.