May 26, 2014
They are willing to take the cat. My 13-year-old cat. Love my cat. Thick gray striped coat. Her head seems a bit small now; must be in comparison to her body, so hefty now. She won’t get a lot of attention here; only a couple of people work on any shift and it is a huge warehouse-like building. But she doesn’t need a lot of company — just a little attention in the morning, a little at night.
Now, at home, I miss her. I feel the keen lack of her in my arms. The separation pain. I feel it in my stomach. I know it will heal, but now it hurts. I didn’t tell them her history. They don’t know her age. What she likes to eat. Eat! She must be hungry. Yes, she is starved. As soon as she hears me enter the kitchen she comes running in, falling all over her bowl. But once again I’m out of cat food. I couldn’t take care of her anymore. I will resort to giving her my own tuna fish. She is starved and I can’t bear it.
“Not a good choice,” says the roommate. “I’m planning on tuna casserole for dinner for us tonight. Need that tuna for us.”
Something better than tuna is in the cabinet. I take two chunks of freshly cooked salmon and put it into the cat’s bowl. She is picking at it carefully, but I know it’s the best.
I don’t want to impose but I really want G’s advice. I wait for a lull in the conversation and show her the coats; I hope she will agree that I do need that fourth one. See, this long black wool coat, with the 20 buttons down the front – it’s so dressy. And this blue, hooded parka, so casual. And the black leather, so specific. I need another nice jacket to go with nice pants. But the money? Well, what else would I spend it on. Visiting your brother in NYC. That is what you would spend it on.
“What about that light blue jacket?” asks G. It’s lightweight, for a summer night. And my fourth jacket would be black so it would go with everything the blue one doesn’t go with. I think I have it justified now, but it does seem like a lot of coats and jackets. G and I get into the car but it’s crowded. She has shown me how to adjust my seat up so I can see past the windshield well now. In hers, the windows are curving in so far I can barely get myself in, with all my coats and the two purses. Why do I have two purses with me? I don’t know but that is what I needed.
“You know that song? The one that starts like this?” She sings the first bar and I remember it; a girl is invited out to the dance floor. Yes, I remember the rest. “Some people say it was about that teacher. The one who slept with his high school students.” Sophomore year biology. Solomon. Yes, that is what they said about him. Bill Solomon. I start to sing the song but the wrong one comes out. After a few bars it turns into “You’re So Vain.” No, not that song. I keep trying to remember the other one, but it eludes me.
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