If I were a cat, my breed would not be a Sphynx. Hairlessness isn’t in my DNA. What could evoke such an unusual start to a blog post, you may wonder? Too much sun, perhaps? “She’s a dog person,” you say. “Why in the world would she ever want to be a cat?” I don’t. Cats make me sneeze. And they’re too moody like people. In fact, the Sphynx reference stems from something called a “writing prompt,” put forth by my writers group instructor, whom we fondly call Anastasia Beaverhausen (“AB,” to her face) for reasons I cannot go into. Our regular Wednesday two-hour Zoom sessions have given each of…