I’m somewhere between Tennyson’s famous quote that’s been canonized as cliché (“‘Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all”) and George Carlin’s truest of true assertions that buying a pet amounts to “purchasing a small tragedy,” as you will outlive this life that you’re emotionally investing in (and if you don’t, that’s even worse, since you’re dead).

One of those small tragedies happens to be the uber-flat-faced exotic shorthair Winston, who’s netted millions of views on YouTube and has a few thousand Twitter followers. He’s no Maru, but I’d call him “Internet famous” if that weren’t a boastful reflection on myself and if I just hadn’t spent the weekend at ROFLcon listening to people describe themselves as such, beckoning the bile up my throat. People who’ve never visited my apartment know who he is; strangers tell me they love him. And now when they inquire about how he’s doing, I’ll either have to lie vaguely or explain my situation specifically. That’s the downside of etching in Internet stone something as skittish as life.

Everything about this is so good, for so many reasons.

Thank you, Rich.

Can you sleep?

If so, I’d tell you to [expletive] off but hey, you’re probably asleep, so never mind. This is for the rest of us.

• Drink a glass of almond milk. You could try soy or dairy or rice, but almond really tastes better.
• Stare out the window, for however long.
• Stare at the cat sleeping next to you. Is he rubbing it in or is he trying to lead by example? Augh! He is doing that thing where he curls upside down and puts his paws over his face. 
• Google types of cats and decide that yours are, most likely, Brooklyn bastards of Korat extraction. “I am sometimes unnerved when the Korats seem to know something before I do.”
• There are so many old Nardwaur interviews on the internet.
• Consider doing something productive, like answering email or working on that story or finishing that essay that’s been sitting in draft form on your desktop for six weeks. Realize the essay is no longer timely, at all. Stare out the window some more.
• Consider going for a walk. Realize that would involve putting on pants and shoes and a coat and who even has the energy for that. Stare out the window some more.
• Wonder if the prostitutes up the street near the playground are doing okay. Spend some time Googling to figure out why the New York Times locates that playground in Boerum Hill; shouldn’t Gowanus go up to Butler and the head of the canal?
• Turn off the computer. Read four pages of the nearest book. Feel sleepy. Get excited. Find a bookmark. False alarm.
• Do this deep-breathing exercise: inhale through nose for a count of five, hold for a count of five, exhale through mouth for a count of five, repeat five times.
• Feel calm, and slightly energized. Tidy a shelf.
• Remember you took a sleeping pill, like, six hours ago. Feel cheated. Consider writing a letter to the manufacturer.
• The thing about insomnia is it changes your entire perspective on sleep: it’s not something you go to, because you can’t get there; it’s something you try and fail to do, and that’s the worst of it, the failure, because ordinary idiots manage to pull this off every night. Like, Rick Santorum can sleep, I’m sure of it. So can Sarah Palin. So can Carrot Top. Also, because insomnia makes you tired, you wind up thinking about it during the day, and talking about it, because a) it haunts you like a phantom limb and b) you feel compelled to explain to people why you are talking slowly and have bags under your eyes. Carrot Top never has to do this. Feel sad.
• Turn the computer back on. Write a list. Writing a list is always soothing, even if you are doing it in your not-sleep.

An open letter to Kacy, whose Gorgonzola is in my fridge

Dear Kacy,

You don’t know me, and the only thing I know about you is that you wanted a quarter-pound of Gorgonzola this weekend. You didn’t get it. You also did not get a container of heat-and-eat chicken-spinach cannelloni, a tub of prepared beef chili and a small box of blackberries. I got all of these things because Fresh Direct screwed up your order, even though your name was clearly printed on the tub of cheese. I’m sorry.

I ate the blackberries. I’m sorry about that too. They were delicious, even though they’re out of season. If you’re into antioxidants and tasty bite-sized purple snacks, FYI, Concord grapes are still available at the farmer’s markets. I saw some when I was in Union Square scouting apples. You just have to watch out for the seeds, they’re a little trickier to eat in front of people or in the office because you have to keep spitting into your hand or a napkin. 

Do you work in an office? I feel like you do. An informal survey of people who are bemused by my interest in a stranger whose Gorgonzola is in my fridge reveals that most believe you work “in a dentist’s office.” I completely disagree. Of course I googled your full name, and found a few results, but I don’t think any of them are in Fresh Direct’s NYC delivery zone and I was too busy eating your blackberries to do any further research. I think you might work in law or finance—something fairly challenging that engages your intellect. I think you live alone and that you have a nice couch.

I also feel like you have a cat and that his name is Mr. Wiggles. 

What were you going to do with this Gorgonzola, by the way? Salad, I suppose, or on top of a burger? I like your attitude toward food: you have the berries (healthy), the chili (also pretty healthy, and full of red meat), the Gorgonzola (classy), the cannelloni (full-on cream sauce and sodium, exactly the sort of thing a lady might need, along with half a bottle of rose, after a long day of law or finance).

I annoyed everyone over the weekend. I kept saying “Mr. Wiggles! Where’s my Gorgonzola?”

As exciting-slash-guilt-inducing as it is to get a stranger’s food for free, the sad truth is that I am lactose- and gluten-intolerant, which means I can’t eat your Gorgonzola or the cannelloni. The chili is something I would eat, but I made a huge batch of crockpot chili last week so I am not interested in more chili. (Update: Someone ate the cannelloni. His verdict: “It was good.”)

This isn’t the first time a stranger’s food has wound up in my fridge courtesy of a Fresh Direct error. Once my roommate and I unpacked our boxes and found a 32-ounce bottle of ranch dressing—as you may know, ranch is the second-worst dressing in the world, after Thousand Island—so we were simultaneously disgusted and exhilarated. Thirty-two ounces is a lot of anything! We couldn’t bring ourselves to get rid of the ranch, even though neither of us had any intention of eating it, because who looks a gift horse in the mouth (even if that horse has the texture of thin, lumpy mayonnaise and smells like a sports bar)?

Completely unrelated, but the laundromat once gave me a red flannel pillowcase that wasn’t mine and it promptly became my favorite pillowcase. I told myself this made up for my favorite argyle socks, which had disappeared at the same laundromat a few months earlier, but of course it didn’t. Then the flannel pillowcase went to the laundry and never came back, so I like to think it made its way home to its rightful owner, or to someone else who appreciated it as much as I did. 

Anyway, Kacy, I just want to apologize again for the loss of your Gorgonzola. I know how hard it can be to plan for healthy (and healthy-ish) meals when you have a demanding job and a cat to raise. I hope this mishap didn’t ruin your menu agenda for the week. If it did, I hope you took the opportunity to treat yourself to Thai takeout, and I hope you got home and opened the containers and found exactly what you ordered.