July 3, 1999

So I find myself about 60 miles north of yesterday, north of the past year, north of the past 13 years.

From a purely physical angle, it was an easy move. I had plenty of help. Some recent students provided boxes; Sean carted stuff up on numerous trips; my sister & brother-in-law donated their truck and their time; a bunch of anonymous high school kids lugged heavy book boxes up two flights; the guys in this new place are perfectly welcoming & friendly and understanding.

I have moved smoothly into this place. There remain a few things to do: get bookshelves, get a sleepable bed, get some workable desk space. These things will happen, but not today. Today I am the cat.

I woke up this morning to silence. The cat had been noisy and complaining as I fell to sleep on my super-squishy bed; but this morning, silence. Then it slowly came to me, after shave and shower, that the cat was still not apparent. I looked and called, but no cat.

Now these three rooms over which I'm spread have lots of nooks and crannies, so I begin a very careful search; but the upshot is: no cat. I start to panic a bit & tell people about it. Dominic looks through all the 2nd floor rooms. No cat.

Two hours have passed, and in my mind I'm kissing this kitty goodbye. I sit myself down to think. There's no way she could have gotten out of the room unless somebody opened the door and let her out. She was making a lot of noise last night, so maybe somebody got upset and let her out while I was sleeping. But this just doesn't hook up with what I know about these guys. None of them would do something like that. So maybe the annoying cat was vaporized by the spirits of previous tenants. Maybe in her longing for the old place, she vaporized herself in an ultimate act of feline wishfulness. I'm giving up...but only after one more look around.

Trying to be rational, I think that there must be at least one place I haven't yet looked. I notice the very shallow base of my dresser, barely 3 inches high. The drawers are loaded and heavy so I have to reach around under it. It's hollow and almost empty, except for a handful of warm cat fur.

She's pouting. She's being self-protective. She's punishing me for this awful thing I have done to her. More than anything, she's acting out my own emotional distress. This hidey-hole beneath the dresser is exactly where I'd be if I could fit. I don't change willingly or well. I'm completely self-absorbed. Lost in the woods of my own needs and concerns. On another planet about 60 miles from yesterday.