MSI Press Blog

  Some cats choose their humans. Some cats create them. Intrepid did both. He entered our lives in late 2005, a tiny tabby-mau kitten rescued from the grass outside a professor’s home in Jordan, where we were living and working at the time. Fearless from the start—hence his name—Intrepid ate like a creature possessed, sleeping curled beside the food bowl as if it might vanish. Once he realized food was a permanent fixture, he turned his attention to the rest of the house… and the laws of physics. Kamikaze leaps across the living room, potted plants as landing pads, chaos as his calling card. He was our smallest cat, but the bravest. He bonded instantly with Murjan , our alpha male, who mothered him with nightly snuggles. Murjan’s paws wrapped protectively around Intrepid in a feline embrace of pure love. I left Jordan to return to the States six months before Carl did. Murjan came with me. Intrepid stayed behind with Carl. And that’s when the real magic happened. Carl and Intr...

When a spouse dies, memory plays tricks on us. Grief is not just about missing someone—it’s about trying to make sense of a life that is now suddenly only past tense. One of the most complicated truths of bereavement is that we often don't remember our loved ones as they truly were. We remember them as either an icon —glorified, idealized, a figure bathed in soft light—or as an ogre , the shadowy figure who made life hard in their final days. Neither version tells the full truth. The "icon" memory is seductive. It’s easier to remember only the best—the laughter, the shared victories, the warm touches and private jokes. We place them on a pedestal so high we forget the arguments, the disappointments, the human flaws. It's a comforting illusion, but it can leave us feeling confused when our true memories sneak back in. We wonder if we’re betraying them by remembering anything less than perfection. On the other end of the spectrum is the "ogre" narrative, espec...