I really want to know.
How does this universe see me? How does the energy everything is made from relate to itself? How are some people so sure they know the Secret yet others are equally sure that everything opens to you if you only have faith? Is my success already made and just waiting out there for me to reach it? How do I look up and feel anything but insignificant?
This past week has had it’s ups and downs. I’ve found myself thinking a lot about what is available to me – out there. Saturday afternoon as I drove back home after a morning full of errands, I found myself wandering around the streets of my neighborhood. I was hoping to spot a flash of gray and cream fur trotting through the grassy yards. I had to stop the car as tears filled my eyes and I wondered for the hundredth time if the universe knew where Luna was because I sure didn’t. My little Looney-Bird has a collar with a big metal heart inscribed with her name and my phone number and address. She’d been gone six days. Six long hot days, and through more than one violent thunderstorm. We’d gotten almost three inches of rain Thursday night. Every day I’d come home from school hoping to see her peeking out at me from under the porch. Meowing her displeasure at my absence and wanting to tell me all her escapades.
Even more so this particular week, as I had to have her little sister Jenni put to sleep on Thursday afternoon. Here I was sitting in my car channeling the vet’s office. Completely caught off guard by how much it hurt. I fumbled out an explanation to the very kind Vet and her assistant.
“I grew up on a farm, for heaven’s sake,” I said. “When any of our pets got hurt or sick dad would take them behind the garage and shoot them.”
They both nodded. One of them saying she grew up the same way, but it never got easier.
They left the room to make the neccassary preparations and I held my little cat and thought about my dad. The dad who didn’t know about me. The dad who couldn’t have taken a cat behind the garage and shot it, not to save his own life. The dad who loved cats his entire life. The dad who raised four children who love cats to this day. I thought about him, wondered if he might take care of little Jen for me. Thought about what I’d tell him, that she’s a nervous little thing, but funny and playful when she’s happy. That she loves Salmon treats and cuddling. I wondered about how this universe works.
When the ladies came back in, I wrapped my little cat in my son’s old shirt. The one we put in her little kennel to help her feel more secure; she loved him so much she crawled into his hoodie pocket within the first few moments they met. She looked at me with completely innocent little green eyes and I petted her while they shaved her leg and gave her an injection. She didn’t struggle or seem perturbed at all. It was rudely, thankfully quick. I had them cremate her, asked them to keep her wrapped in his shirt.
“She loved this old shirt,” I said, for the fourth time.
They offered to give me more time but I had to pick up the girls from their first day of school. So I just tucked the edges around her, thanked them again for their kindness and let them lead me out the back door with my empty carrier.
That empty pink carrier that’s sitting in the back of this car as I give up my search and drive home with a weary heart. The girls come out and haul groceries in. I clean out the fridge and put food away. Then it’s off and running again, kids to drop off, a last minute movie I go see because I want to sit in the dark and eat a WHOLE bucket of buttered popcorn and drink a LARGE Coke Zero and not want to hear about it from anyone.
My youngest wonders what we’re going to do with our cat tree now we don’t have any cats. I buy her an Icee and she stops talking. I wonder if the universe might tell Luna that I’m looking for her. Maybe my energy could yell at her energy in some cosmic Marco Polo?
I got up this morning and while I waited for my coffee I looked at the cat stuff. I’ll deal with it Friday, I decide. I’ve given myself Friday’s off this school year, hoping to better service my own soul and my writing. I’m alerted to a sound on the front porch. I think about all the times this week I’ve opened the door hoping to see my girl. I decide it won’t hurt if the neighbors get a peek at my purple mu mu. I step out onto the damp wood of the porch and call her. Look around. Wait. It’s her MO. Make the woman wait at least a minute. I call her again. Wait. My coffee chimes it’s ready. I turn back to the door. Pushing it open I almost miss the little jingle of a bright pink heart. There is no missing the adamant MEOW and the fluff of a tail around my ankles.
The poor girl got more love than she bargained for, and grounded for a week. Maybe she’ll forgive when I explain about Jenni.