What congestive heart failure looks like. A push in the wheelchair through the garden poppin’ down undiscovered grapes and tomatoes. Sniffing’ sage & thyme. Telling’ lies under a perfect 80 degree sun. The next day, he landed in the hospital for four and is back home with the best humans they grow. He’s a tuff mutherfucker. And if you don’t like my language, take it up with him. He is the teacher and who would fuck with such a cat? Tomorrow, we celebrate Poppi’s 86th birthday.