June is a month that holds both joy and sadness for me.

Thursday will mark eight years since I lost my furry son Luke, who was such a special soul that I have yet to invite another cat into my house. He was a floofy blend of love, sass and goofiness, with the occasional burst of anger (if you dared touch his belly, you'd be in for it).

Instead, I get my fix of kitty lovin' by house/cat-sitting my many fur-nieces and nephews, though that number was depleted by one a few weeks ago with the death of Charlie, the sweetest boy who ever loved belly rubs (seriously, it wasn't a trap; this cat loved belly rubs, and would give you kisses if he loved you).

And then there's the joy of celebrating my LGBTQ friends and family during Pride Month (though I celebrate them all year long; they're awesome people). But even that is tinged with sadness and, I admit, some fear. With so much unbridled hatred going around, it's hard not to worry if those friends and family members will be safe.

In some quarters it seems odd to be afraid, especially when thousands showed up to cheer on the SoMa Pride Parade in Little Rock Saturday, but in other areas, I'm unsurprised when my friends opt out for fear of injury or worse.

One of the persistent themes among detractors of Pride........

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