A day later everything is upside down, not forgiven but extended. Hours before this much light I am in bed, having moved there from sleeping on the floor where I dream the cat comes to sleep nestled next to me. She is across the room. It’s after 2 and I go upstairs dreading to come back down again, to find what may be there. It’s four, five, I don’t know–I am awake in the bed, hot then cold, unable to go back to sleep. Can’t bear the thought of waking up, going downstairs, imagining what I could find. I get up to use the john and am holding my head in my hands when I feel something. The cat is here, rubbing my leg, then looking at me quizzically. I touch her and she’s real. It’s the first time she’s been upstairs since I’ve been home.
Downstairs I check with trepidation but find nothing. She hasn’t puked. She noses at chicken broth and drinks a few laps, sniffs at food. I have a conversation with the 24 hour hospital vet while it’s still dark: yes this, no that. The cat gets medicine which is difficult to go down, but she stops spitting out the pills and it is okay. She seems to sit comfortably–not quite normally, but with some ease.
I dare to feel a little better. I can’t sleep so do laundry, clean dishes, read through the cat’s notes and note what pills when. Traffic is busy outside, people walking past the window down to Georgetown and the bus. I think to go outside where the world still is.
This is the freeway in the sun, the trees already having called it in for summer.
This is Corson down to the bus, the sun shining behind the graffiti-covered traffic light sign. This is the kind of light they had eleven years ago tomorrow that morning of severe clear.
This is the inoperative bridge which has inconvenienced us all since last winter, which the city website says is on track to be reopened by year’s end.
This is the playground space, the trees looking on desertion for school and purpose.
Here’s a school where they’ve all gone. Everyone is gone to one, or to work, or somewhere purposeful. I am somewhere else, right now much better than where I was yesterday, but as far as everyone else is concerned out of sync, unplaced, floating. It’s like a fall twenty years ago when college ended and I had nowhere to go but my bedroom.
The cat does okay. She drinks, comes upstairs lies in the bottom of the closet but purrs and seems happy enough. She walks out to see me every so often, hops in the bathtub to drink–a favorite pastime. Not much eating happens but this is a start. I am not sure if I should hope yet.
A friend says I’m doing a good job, providing care better than most people. It’s about perspective. Yes, but perspective shifts so rapidly and is often not your own.
The cat is slower now, tired and medicated I’m guessing. We have an appointment with our old vet tomorrow, down in Federal Way when my living here was new and I was younger. Hopefully back and south will be forward. Forward is the only way we can go.