It could be said that yesterday’s post [1] was evidence of my being a little defensive. I’d HATE to be thought of as a cat lady. Yet you can find me most nights before heading off to sleep, searching under cars in my neighborhood to lure Lily (the cat) into bed. I’ve gotten used to the peacefulness of sleeping alone. No snoring, plenty of room side to side, covers to yourself, the uncompromising control of the lighting. But sometimes it gets lonely and boring. And that’s where Lily fits in. Quite cozily, I might add, right underneath my elbow.
This 1949 photograph, Girl in Bed, is by the incomparable Irving Penn, who died three weeks ago at the ripe, old, age of 92.