The cat is still here, alive and guarding the house. Though she did get out once on me already. Just a few minutes ago, in fact. I was on my way out the door with my laptop so I could enjoy the night air while doing a little writing and she ran out right through my legs. I yelled, she rounded the corner and stopped. I picked her up and she hissed at me almost all the way back into the house. But she's fine. She just really wants to be out. I feel for her. I wish I felt more at ease about letting her be an indoor/outdoor cat but there's just too many cars and other cats around here. Plus people tell me that there are still assholes out there that kill black cats? I didn't know that was a thing outside of the Salem witch trails days. So my paranoia coupled with my total lack of faith in her physical capacity to run from an oncoming car (i.e. she's a fat house cat) keeps me from letting her out and thus every once in a while I have to put up with having to chase her down.
Maybe I am too paranoid though. It struck me tonight as I was talking to my friend Steve about the incident last night, how I was convinced that the bike thief must have kidnapped Under and was torturing her inside a cage in some hellhole of a St Paul basement. Hearing my crazy thoughts actually come out of my mouth and then seeing the reaction on the other person's face helped bring me this realization.
I could just be bored with an overactive imagination. I think, though, I do have some separation anxiety. I don't know if it started when my mom passed away but I can tell you it's definitely become more pronounced since. Maybe that's why I'm always looking forward to solitude because there's no risk of separation. On one hand it doesn't make much sense, because what is the fear of separation besides the fear that whatever or whoever you're separating from won't or can't come back? There has to be more to it. Maybe it's the act of separation itself? The cutting of that tie is what hurts the most perhaps?
But I feel like the paranoia is a separate issue. Separation anxiety just plays well off it. It's like the imitation butter oil topping on the $8 bag of popcorn at the movie theatre: free of charge and may very well kill you.
That's a shitty joke. But it came out in this flow and fuck it I'm keeping it in there. I love writing in this thing again. I'm pretty sure no one is reading it and that, in a way, makes it almost better. I can just do it and not have to hear about it from anyone. Not that that would be a bad thing, it's just a different thing. But whatever, this feels good. And this night is a good night.
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