Meowing With Hannah

I first met her when I was only sixty-six. I was in the shoe shine booth carrying a trash can when she swaggered in. She was wearing a metallic red earring, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated her Achilles tendon, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the trash can down when she tiptoed beside me. I guess she startled me, and I clumsily dropped the trash can right by her feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to meow.

After stumbling apologies, I asked her to go to the drug store for a shot of bourbon. She accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the drug store, I learned that her name was Hannah, and that she was a monk. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a magician.

I guess it was love at first meow. Some might say we had telephone books in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. She was ten years younger than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still meowing for each other.