There's a handful of words that I run across every few years or so. Each time I see them, I have to look them up. In between encounters, all I ever remember is "there's a word for that," but I never remember what the frickin' word is.
So. Aglet. It's one of those words. I ran across it again on Facebook this morning, where someone posted a
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I'm sorry about your kitty. I hope there is some kind of aglet for the disease and she will somehow come out the other side of the grommet okay.
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Daisy will be good until she isn't. What I owe her isn't a cure. None of us get that anyhow, ultimately. What I owe her is good times as she defines them for as long as they are possible. I owe her an end to suffering, when suffering promises to become the new norm. And I owe her grief and memory when the time is appropriate. I can't cure her. No one can. But I can give her everything she needs.
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