Instead of Giving Thanks.

I packed. I searched for Will. I fielded phone calls from people with leads on Will. Which turned out to be leads on other black cats in the area. Which we apparently have a lot. Too many. One particularly inspiring call was: I think your cat is dead. And she went on to explain why. She didn't leave a phone number. Which was good. I called shelters and animal sanitation -- although that's not the real name for it, it's who the city calls when they find dead animals-- I called the fire department-- which is right by where the dead black cat was dying-- way before Will was even missing. I called the micro-chip people to make sure that no one could change the microchip. Just in case. I did laps and laps around the area calling his name. Even though I know if he was out, he would come home or come when I called. I just do. He actually perks up when he sees me. Imagine that.

Today, my mother said, "maybe you're only meant to have one cat." This was not helpful. And this is the woman I'm going to live with. (Also the woman who is resistant to DSL and cable, by the way. Although I have now graduated to being given an entire closet. Not counting the bottom and the top-- in other words, hanging things only). Another friend thought that Will had found a home that needed him. Well, if I'm not needy, then what am I? Please tell me who around here has a life that is functioning at a lower capacity than mine-- taking age range into consideration? Particularly given that they can afford the rent and I can't? I need Will. And love him. And miss him. And am devastated. All of my neighbors have been coming out to talk to me. They talk about how he's a free spirit. That he's not like a cat. And that he's special. That they dig him. They think he's fine. That he'll be home soon. I hope so. I move at 8am on November 29th. Nothing hurts me more than to think he might come home and find me not here. That he would need me and I would be gone. Argh.

So while others ate turkey and stuffed themselves alongside their families, I packed. And cried. About how I really didn't care about Thanksgiving. Because I am over celebrating holidays with my family as the woman without a family of her own. It just feels false. And contrived. Which are different versions of the same thing. Anyway, I also cried about Will and packing. And heated up three chicken taquitos. And drank a few glasses of wine. Neither of which tasted very good to me. I'm losing weight without trying. My pants are all falling off. But eating seems boring. And so not important right now. I had so many hopes when I moved into this place. I really thought I would have realized a few of them by now. It's hard to face that I haven't. That I'm leaving with less than I started with. Failure is hard. I don't care what anyone says.

This would, of course, be different if I was moving to New York now. But I'm not.

I think about my friend Mary whose husband died in the World Trade Center. Although her pain and my pain are different and I can't compare the two and won't-- I do understand what she meant when she said she just wanted to pretend that part of her life didn't exist. To just start over. (Even though she didn't really). I do want to forget that I was ever here. Sometimes I do think other people will. And that it somehow will be okay. I wish that there was a witness protection program for people who just need to change their life. That they're given a new one where pain, sadness and failure don't exist and they can start anew and be anything they want to be. With, of course, all of their animals. Because otherwise, what would be the point?