Malcolm is gone; took him out to Allana’s in Elgin yesterday and left him and I’m still feeling sad even though it hasn’t totally sunk in yet that I’ll probably never see him again (and if I do chances are good he won’t have any idea who I am because while not exactly dumb Mal’s not exactly smart either). He’ll be a lot safer with Allana than he would even if we were staying here, as she lives at the very end of a dirt-road that minimizes the risk of him getting run over. And since her land is bordered by undeveloped fields on two sides he’ll have lots of places to roam so hopefully he’ll go back to hunting again and be that much happier for it. Malcolm is really getting the best part of the deal and I just wish he wasn’t too much of a cat to know it.
Sadie made the trip out with us and seems to understand he won’t be coming back, which was a big part of my intention in taking her along. She’s already started wanting to go out more often, which she'd largely given up on because Malcolm would harass her coming up or down the steps. I’m going to miss watching them tussle, though. Having two cats is a lot of the time really much better than having one.
It was good to see Allana. She looked pretty much the same as the last time I saw her,
which as it happens was when I got Malcolm from her on Christmas Eve 2006. She’s doing well, working at a bank
that is absorbing, she says, increasing numbers of our former co-workers let go when
our old employer got out of the mortgage business. Camilia (known to long-time readers as Petulia) is there, as
is The Boss and even now Lil, who I haven’t spoken to since she fucked up my
birthday plans so last year.
As for herself, Allana has finally made the jump to Analyst from the Specialist/Coordinator
ghetto she dwelt in for so long, and I’m very glad for her. That’s a tough niche to break out of. (It wouldn’t surprise me if I don’t for during the remainder of my working
life.)
Good as it was to see an old friend – and to grab a very tasty lunch at Meyer’s BBQ on the way back – it doesn’t change the fact that I’m now down one cat and I already miss the little bugger. (OK, big bugger – he must be tipping the scales at 22 lbs by now, proportionately little of it fat.) And with the departure of Mooble – for that’s what I called him, along with Booble McFooble and Butthead and the usual variety of other names that a middle-aged person living alone will bestow on a pet – it’s hard to deny that the final part of my endgame in Austin has begun. Before yesterday I had thought it was giving notice at work that would mark that, but no - you don’t give away a beloved pet until you absolutely have to, even to the best of homes.
Canceling my Netflix account like I did Friday? Not the same cachet to it. Not at all.
My stuff continues to sell poorly on Craigslist, so my next-to-final act will be to have a yard sale with anything I think I can get even part of a dollar for. That’s two weeks from yesterday. My final act will be to place the stuff I absolutely can’t sell (best furniture, wall-decorations, books etc.) in storage and that’s two weeks from tomorrow. Ulp.
Ulp because after that I’m effectively homeless. By choice, of course, but every now and
then when I contemplate my plans I get that sinking feeling when I realize that
for the first time in my adventures I won’t have anywhere to return to, or more
to the point, to retreat to in the case of unexpected catastrophe. As Julian Cope once sung, I need security but I hate safety. Now that, my friends, is truly a tough
niche to break out of.
Well. I guess we find out how truly resourceful I’ve become in my 18 post-divorce years of taking care of myself. Either that or how much a PO box in Austin qualifies as a fixed address when it comes to official anything. Which reminds me : put “file change of address with DPS” on my to-do list for the next two weeks.
Which are, in case you didn’t already guess, is going to be a very busy period. At least I won’t have two cats underfoot during it. Sniff.
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