Some of the people I work with got in on this, so this post might be more enthusiastic than others. STOP READING THIS, NANCY.
My S day: sleep, snooze, snooze, snooze, speed bumps, strawberry Pop-Tarts, sexy satchels from a supervisor on a stellar show, sausage dogs, sweet potato fries, Spring Awakening (both plays and soundtrack), Sweeney Todd, Snapple, selecting scenes from a series and scribbling notes, Superfood (I don't care for this stuff but the alphabet rules, and I had to clean it out of the refrigerator anyway), speaking soccer bets with a showrunner, secret keeping from my Aunt Staci, solitary television viewing, Shayan's birthday countdown, Soderbergh, sugar cookies, sit-ups, and sleep.
S song: "Shady Esperanto and the Young Hearts" - Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers
S word: sewer
When I was younger, I had a cat named Ellis. Well, I later learned that that cat was actually named L.S. as in "Little Shit." I could write a dissertation on how much this revelation changed, ruined, my childhood. Also, I blame this moniker for subliminally enforcing the "potty mouth" that I have today.
Anyway, Ellis ran away one night when it was raining, really raining. I was young, but I remember it vividly or I remember remembering it. Still, he was outside during the storm, and even though my mom called him inside, he never showed. He didn't come back the next day or the day after, and we have moved a bunch of times, so he couldn't find us anymore if he wanted to.
When it was obvious to my mom that Ellis was lost, she told me he probably got washed away in the rain and maybe got stuck in the sewer or something. I thought this meant he was living in there, like kicked back with a ball of yarn kind of living. I don't know if he ever actually played with yarn. I don't know if I know any cats that play with yarn, and that is saying something because I do know a lot of cats.