I just went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and found a sticky-note on the edge of the sink from my mom, saying she loved me.
It was stuck to a New York Times bag filled with used cat litter.
In many other families, this would cause enough bad blood to ruin the next forty Thanksgivings. But knowing my mom, and how she feels about the cats' presence (and, more to the point, the fact that they have excretory systems), and the general gist of this weekend's conversations? It somehow makes total sense. And if I could get one of them to hurk up a hairball right now, I'd wrap it in a paper towel and leave it by her crossword puzzle, to say I love you, too, Mom.