This week marked another anniversary of what we’ve collectively decided to call “9/11.” I didn’t expect to notice the anniversary this year. That single event has changed so much of what we take for granted, so much of how we think about our relationships to the state, to others, to the world, and what the state thinks it has the right and duty to do to and for us. It is virtually impossible for me to separate the facts of what happened that day and to mourn the many, many losses suffered then, from the political interpretations of the event that have lead to so many more deaths. I thought about this as I was zipping up Magazine Street on my way home from a delightful potluck with my friends in the Treme and passed the Cat Practice here at Magazine and Felicity. I remember when I got cats and took them here for their physicals. I was looking through their yearbook, which featured newspaper accounts of some kind of tragedy that befell the clinic. I just assumed it was Katrina-related, because that’s what I see as a newcomer to this city. But the album collected memories from a fire that took the lives of many cats and destroyed the practice. I thought about that tonight because this anniversary marks one event that changed how war works for us, but it isn’t the event alone that led to those changes. Post-9/11 looks like it does because of a whole logic that precedes and exceeds this single tragedy. I’ve got to be careful of seeing everything through the lens of the tragedy that dominates my immediate view. Sometimes bike rides give you that kind of space, especially on a night like this one–a bit cool, humid to the point of fogging up my glasses, and clear after two days of near-constant rain.