I'm having a bad week. Actually, I'm having a good week; me who always bombs interviews managed to nail both of them, and got myself successfully entrenched in full-time paying work even before September 1st so there is absolutely no question that I will be able to make rent on a reliable "I don't need to look to anyone else to be my Safety Net" consistent basis. The law firm I'm going to appears to be designed with an Ange-shaped hole that I am ideal to fit into, allowing me the autonomy to organize all within my realm and work away unfettered by prattling co-workers far in the back corner of the office with, lo, a large mirror beside my desk so I can be distracted by obsessive-compulsive bad hair days on a regular basis.
But I got a call from Dad (inbetween the aforementioned interviews) that my cat had gone missing and was quite possibly the same cat that Dad happened along being scraped up off the side of the road a couple days later. I say this in my usual distanced dry humour because I think it shields me, keeps the pain at arm's length. Only it doesn't. All week I figured it wasn't true; Dad never identified the cat so it's very possible it wasn't mine at all, and the cat has gone missing before and always wandered back within a few days. So I'm still expecting, any day now, for Dad to phone and say my cat has just wandered back home again. But each day that passes makes me that much more sure that that's not going to happen. So grief is setting in, and I just want to lie here and stare at nothing. Wanting the world around me to stop, give me time to --what? adjust? Or just stop being. But it keeps going, and dragging me along with it.
It makes me get up in the morning and concentrate on work. As much as I want to stay in bed for weeks on end, that would only ensure I have no job and hence no money and soon enough no roof over my head where I *could* stay in bed all day.
It continues to house my friends who care, who keep inviting me out to partake in this "life" shit everyone else is so keen on. Dragging me to SCA events where they all ask how I'm doing cuz they care, but only in passing since I'm too much of an investment to get really in-depthly involved in my "stuff". Dragging me off to parties where I'm supposed to be little miss cheerleader life of the party or at least content and satisfied with life because there are guys trying to be my boyfriend and shouldn't that make me happy? Yeah, cuz I need more people around me in my life to be taken away. More liars to trick me while they chain me to their pedestal.
I know there is a reason for everything, and the cycle of life and death keeps turning no matter who tries so hard to stop it, and that it's best he went now before the suspected tooth rot could cause him complications that would see him slowly starve to death in agony. But I'm just not ready to let him go yet. And it's stupid that a woman nigh on 30 is so ridiculously weepy over something as insignificant as a pet. It's not like it's a HUMAN, which we're supposed to have infinitely more love for and regard so much more highly. So I should just grow the fuck up already!
Animals don't play you, don't lie to you. Don't pretend to feel anything for you that they honestly don't feel. They love, and they are loyal. And they remember when you slight them. They are upfront. They hear your unvoiced pain. They don't always come when you call, and they're often underfoot at the most inopportune times, but they're always there for you when you need them. Most of the time I think they're better than people.
this is a picture of Kunky
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