Confections For Cats

M athew's Journal 3-8-14 — From here forward this book will no longer be notes of doctors words —Those type of words invariably become very scary They are large, but unseen, bird of prey. A hawk descending upon a young turkey or chicken. The rest of us standing back, aghast. Our heads and necks filling with rainwater as we stare at what was previously a clear sky. This, of course, should not be taken as a dissertation of doctors, only their words. One of them, Dr. Knight, sat down with me today and let me know that I may die. Which was always a possibility, but more than I thought originally. She asked me what were four things I want to do before I die. I said:  1. Finish my album.  2. Finish my book.  3. see my nephew born.  4. see Russell’s 14th birthday. She then asked me how close I was to finishing the first two. “About 75%,” I said. She wrote that down. I felt the air pressure in the room shift. It became harder to breathe like