Lighting Lydia's Lantern

Dispatch from the Before Times

Something strange has been happening in the household.

We’ve noticed the signs.

Suspicious amounts of coffee. Sighs.

Guzzling coffee, then washing it down with tea, followed by a coffee chaser. That faraway look humans get when they’ve taken flight from the present.

We’ve been trying to call Mumstaff back.

Newbery chewed up the manuscripts on her desk. Nebula sat on her right arm so she couldn’t type. Hugo walked across the keyboard. Callie covered up the screen with his furry bulk.

We assumed the writing project would end there.

And yet, she remains undeterred.

For weeks now, she’s been hunched over that glowing rectangle, typing out the life of Lydia.

Ah, yes. Lydia. The Shadow-Queen of the Before Times. The one who ruled this realm before our paws ever graced the hardwood. Legend has it she couldn’t even see and still managed to command more respect and attention than all four of us combined.

We’re not bitter about it.

Much.

Mumstaff says since yesterday was the Lantern Festival, this is the perfect time.

For what? More food?

We vote yes.

No, she says. The Lantern Festival signifies the closing of the Lunar New Year celebrations—and it’s a symbolic bridge into the year ahead.

The idea is that it’s a time to release the past and step into a bright future. A time for peace and forgiveness and unity.

All things we cats have been trying to teach humans for millennia.

(You’re welcome.)

She says that last night she didn’t hang real lanterns because “fire hazard” and “cats” don’t mix well.

(Don’t blame us. We would’ve been fine.)

What she is lighting, she says, is a different kind of lantern.

A memoir called Lydia’s Lantern.

It helps her let go of the sharp-edged part of missing Lydia and transform it into a steady glow of remembrance.

She’s clearing the path.

This is Lydia’s bridge.

She’s crossing it with aplomb (hopefully, if she doesn’t fall off because she can’t see and all), probably judging our current napping form.

(Mumstaff insists Lydia was not that kind of cat. She says Lydia was sweet, accepting, and unconditionally loving—not judgy like us.)

Whatever.

The point is, Mumstaff built this bridge as a transition from private ache to an open celebration of a life that will always matter.

What this means for you is that Mumstaff will occasionally share excerpts from the memoir in these pages.

Think of them as dispatches from the Before Times, delivered by a blind cat who could see more clearly than most sighted beings.

If Lydia’s story reaches you, we suspect she meant it to.

We current cats are fine with this arrangement.

Mostly.

As long as Mumstaff doesn’t forget who’s currently in charge of the lap space.

And the Greenies keep flowing.

We’re willing to share the spotlight.

Temporarily.