MSI Press Blog

  It’s not every day that Caturday and Flag Day collide, but when they do, there’s no better time to reflect on the shared spirit of independence between cats and the American experience. From the founding ideals of self-determination to the unapologetic autonomy of every feline, both cats and the American spirit thrive on a love of freedom. Cats are masters of their own destiny—choosing where to lounge, when to demand affection (or ignore it entirely), and how best to rule over their human subjects. In much the same way, the American story is one of forging a path, resisting outside control, and declaring sovereignty over one’s own fate. Across cultures, cats have long been symbols of independence: 🐾 Ancient Egypt: Cats were revered as sacred creatures, embodying both protection and autonomy—qualities deeply tied to the nation’s self-governing ideals. 🐾 Norse Mythology: Freyja’s feline-drawn chariot symbolized prosperity and individual strength, much like the enduring Ame...

  Today's book excerpt comes from Widow: How to Survive (and Thrive!) in Your 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Years  by Joanna Romer. Year Two Carving Out a Place for Yourself Nothing in my previous experience prepared me for being a widow, not my 40 years of job experience, ranging from Cosmopolitan Magazine to St. John’s University; not my 25 years of marriage to my beloved husband, Jack; not even my five years of worrying about Jack as he slowly become fatally ill. The widow experience is, as I’m sure you’ll agree, unprecedented. We can’t sugarcoat being a widow. After a year of widowhood, you’ve probably figured that out. It’s hard, it’s a struggle, it’s not something that goes away like the flu. And, unless you get married again, you’re going to be a widow from now on. Yet, believe it or not, you can get used to it. I feel pretty good about my widow status now, although it’s taken me awhile the reach that plateau---4 ½ years. The first year was a killer, wasn’t it? The depression...

  Excerpt from Blest Atheist -  I do not remember when I first became an independent thinker, but somehow even as a young child, I knew I had to be, that this was the route to survival. Over time, the books showed me how.  I remember moments of independence dating back to very young years. One such instance revolved around a gift of seven dollars that Gram had given me for my seventh birthday. I wanted a bank account, and my parents had helped me put this money into savings. I wanted some day to add to the savings. Perhaps with a little money, when I grew up—or even before then—I would be able to leave the burning house. However, my hopes and plans were dashed several months later when my parents decided that I needed a new pair of shoes. The ones they wanted for me cost exactly seven dollars. Holding up my bank book, they told me to get in the car so that we could go to the bank and take out my money for the shoes. I resisted. I would rather have continued to...