A member of my family has turned fifty.

Apparently, this is an Event.

There have been discussions, decorations, secret arrangements and a remarkable amount of excitement over a number. My humans keep saying, “You only turn fifty once,” as though they have uncovered a rare scientific phenomenon.

Naturally, I have examined this claim.

You only turn fifty-one once as well.

And fifty-two.

In fact, unless the humans have discovered a highly unusual way of repeating birthdays, every age occurs only once. Yet nobody appears to be planning a grand banquet for turning forty-seven and three quarters.

Humans are very selective about mathematics.

Still, I understand that fifty is considered a milestone. Humans enjoy milestones because they give them an excuse to gather together, eat cake and tell stories about how young they still feel. They also enjoy saying things such as, “Fifty is the new forty,” which raises several administrative questions about what has happened to forty.

From my position as head of household, I have decided to permit the celebrations.

After all, reaching fifty requires years of effort, patience and, presumably, surviving a great many poorly organised birthdays. That deserves recognition.

There should be cake. There should be presents. There should be comfortable seating and a sensible schedule that does not interfere with my afternoon rest.

Most importantly, the birthday person should enjoy every moment. Not because fifty is more special than fifty-one, but because being loved is worth making a fuss about at any age.

Although next year, when everyone says, “It’s only fifty-one,” I shall remind them that one only turns fifty-one once.

Consistency is essential in a well-managed family.

Yours,

Mrs. Cotton 🐱🐾

ps. I’ll be watching you about weird claims and ages.