Blogs & Cats -- Getting Started

Well, here he is -- the old Bobcat.  Gray around the muzzle, hairy ears, staring pensively at the shelf that
currently holds him in a metastable equilibrium.  If he were an electron that would mean he's in an excited state, but those don't happen much any more.

Why a blog?  Why not?  Writing is fun, as long as I can do it MY WAY.  And although I have created some opportunities for light-hearted writing, I feel in need of some dark-hearted expressiveness.

My current residential institution (maybe not-for-profit residential retirement corporation would be a better, but much less wieldy, designation) promotes a smiley feel-good ambience -- don't say anything that would upset your fellow inmates and spoil our sense of community.  Specifically, if you must talk about politics or religion, go over in some remote corner and whisper.

I am a skeptical agnostic and a radical centrist, so I don't have all that much good to say about either politics or religion.  Except on a relative basis -- in both categories, there are much greater and lesser evils.  The Pope recently implied something similar w.r.t. the US election, although it wasn't clear that he had examined the Church before he spoke.

The teeth-gritting challenge here is that we have all old people, and most are financially well-off, so there are undoubtedly some/many who will vote for the Orange Turd.  [You have no idea how good it felt to write that at long last.]  I have some friends who are affiliated Democrats -- a party of which I would be severely critical, were it not for the fact that the alternative is beyond loathsome.  One of them keeps saying things like "How do I talk to this woman who is a lovely person, but she's pro-Trump?"  Bag it, lady -- lovely is as lovely does. 

Another reason for my very own personal blog is that I am quite fond of the subjunctive, a case that apparently went out of favor a couple of generations ago while I wasn't watching.  These dire developments have a way of catching up with one -- between peripheral neuropathy and increasing tremors, I can't really write cursive any more.  However, this is rather nicely balanced by my inability to understand the function of most of the I-cons on my I-phone.  Intergenerationally uncommunicative.

To say nothing of my attention span -- time to terminate the introductory diatribe and decide whether I want to let anybody else have the URL, or just howl at the moon all by myself.