Although it’s now long deleted, my old X account served at least one useful purpose in life. My profile image had me looking up quizzically at a ragdoll kitten on my shoulder. That cat (once mistaken for a parrot by a bone-headed rightwing pundit) is no longer with me – but my other ragdoll, Priscilla, became a minor social media celebrity.
In April 2021 I was eight months post open heart surgery, seven months single, about to turn 50, and not about to die wondering. So, I hit Bumble. She didn’t fess up until later but the first woman to message me was one of my X followers – really, one of Priscilla’s. “Oh,” she said to herself, “it’s the man with the cat on Twitter.” And swiped right.
