Stolen Bikes Type Faster, or How I Learned to Keep Worrying Until I Found My Cat.

Well, I was going to write about how lately I've been really fucking down on my life and where I'm at as a 34 year old single man.  I got my laptop, changed the coil in my stupid fucking vape pen, went out to the porch and my bike is gone.  That's two bikes I've had stolen since I moved up here.  One in Minneapolis, one in St. Paul.  One for each of these fucking towns I guess.  Fuck.  I don't even know why I bothered to call the police.  Fill out a report online.  Sure.  That'll get 'em.  I guess I could've had an officer come down but no, not in a good state of mind or sobriety for that.

On the bright side, this thief kept me from writing something entirely way too self absorbed and melodramatic.  I mean, in my head as I was pre-writing this I had it all planned out so that it wouldn't be heavy handed or a pathetic cry for help.  I wanted to take a very matter of fact look at some honest feelings I've been having lately but now, mostly I just want to punch something.

So now if you're reading this you probably feel culpable in some regard.  Like, "shit... I should say/do/think something.  But don't do anything because there is nothing to do.  Because you've been there too.  We all have.  I think it's natural.  I mean, for fuck's sake, we live in a world where people's bikes get stolen right off their goddamn porch, probably when they're home.  I have no idea.  I could've been downstairs watching The Wire and some kid walks by, sees my bike on the porch and makes a go at it.  Smart kid.  Stupid me.  I'm glad the cat is safe and they didn't take anything else.  I should move the other bikes inside.

It's probably not a big deal.  I'm just depressed because I'm lonely.  Not a big deal.  What's weird is I look forward to solitude so much and then when it's finally here shit gets dark.  Fitting that in the midst of my self imposed yet bogus solitude I unknowingly had a visitor.  Did my negative, bummed out, alone-on-a-Friday night vibe attract this criminal to my doorstep through our shared kismet and bad karma?  Or was this my spiritual guru manifesting itself in the form of a bike thief to wake me up out of my self pity, to stir inside of me an awareness of the outer world and that no matter how badly I want to be alone I never truly will be?

Either way, I shouldn't have been keeping my bike behind an unlocked door.  I think I'll go visit the heavy bag downstairs.

::EDIT:: Ok... so, not entirely sure if the cat is safe... she's nowhere to be found in the house.  I've walked all over the neighborhood calling for her.  I'm freaking out.  I can't believe I didn't notice she was gone right away.  I could've sworn I saw her after I noticed the bike was missing.  Maybe I didn't.  Fuck.  I don't know.  I'm the worst human alive.  I don't know where she is.

::EDIT NUMBER 2::  SHE'S back and safe!! And I probably saved the life of a neighborhood cat.  So I'm awoken to a sound I'm only accustomed to hearing indoors: the blood curdling, high pitched scream only little Under can make when she sees another cat.  It is unmistakable and unforgettable.  You feel it in your spine.  And I felt this even though it was coming from the alley.  I quick throw my clothes on and rush outside calling for her and I hear it again this time much closer.  I see a small cat like shape run past me and out into the street to the other side.  Not far behind is Under's fat ass in hot pursuit, chugging along as best she can.  I yell her name and she stops and runs towards the house and runs under the bushes.  I had to wait for her to calm down but eventually she came and sat by me and I took her inside for a second dinner.  Not so much as a reward, but as a precautionary measure in case she ever gets out again.  Had she been in any better shape we'd be short one neighborhood cat.

What an exciting, terrible, awesome night we had.