Last night, after I ran all over the place desperate to find something vegetarian that wasn’t just a veggie burger and making friends with my server, a motley little crew was cobbled together in honor of Sparkypoo and her dude arriving last night. Pat O’Brien’s lovely courtyard, then some other bar, then a jaunt to the casino and another very late night. Today, I hit the ground running.
I met the woman moderating the panel I am speaking on tomorrow, Ms. Arin Black. Know her. Love her. Aiming to sit for just a few minutes and chat about tomorrow’s panel, we sat for over nearly two hours and had a wonderful conversation about everything and nothing, small solids and massive abstracts. An absolute pleasure.
Through the course of the conversation, she told me about how poorly pets were treated during Katrina evaculation efforts. I wanted to cry. Without an ounce of drama, martyrdom or pretentious bullshit, I know with every fiber in my body that I could not leave an animal behind to drown or be shot by the National Guard. How could I live with myself knowing I left an animal to die confused, feeling abandoned, perhaps even feeling punished? I would never be able to live with myself. I wanted to cry as she was recounting memories of people turned away to save their pets, pets being shot as owners were rescued and defiant old ladies refusing to leave beloved pets behind. Makes the heart heavy.
On that note, I need to make a huge shift and go from contemplation-mode to promotional-mode, as I am sitting in front of a camera to be interviewed about Three Fallen Women in just a few.