[ Musings ] Borrowed Time

Posted: October 7, 2014 in Blog

This weekend found me moving to Hollywood, for real, not to another couch or someone else’s bed. I’ve got my own place now, well, half of one. Still can’t afford full rent but my roommate is a good friend and we’re in the same position of trying to make our way in this city.

Despite the move, as I’m writing this, I am outside, sitting in a borrowed garden, with a borrowed cat. In some ways, we’re still strangers to each other but close proximity over the last 6 months has made us familiar, tied together with a thread neither one of us really understands. Earlier in the day, I passed his door on my way somewhere else and heard him crying as I approached. He’s gotten good at that- recognizing the footsteps of those he knows. At least, I think he has. I’ve been told he doesn’t react the same to everyone that passes by.

Though I was in the middle of errands, I couldn’t let his increasingly plaintive mews go unanswered so I stopped to spend time with him. Hence my current position. Currently, he seems happy enough, chasing after this and that while trampling every plant in his path. He’s both frustrating and utterly adorable in that way; his customary nonchalance nowhere in effect. Between random pouncings, he runs up to my chair and searches my eyes with a questioning squeak, as if to make sure I’m still there. It’s a bit odd to see him this frazzled and needing reassurance. Most cats take pride in their self-reliance and usually, this one’s no exception.

Sometimes I wonder just how sensitive he is. The last few weeks have been on the rougher side, with the impending move and the resulting fallout. But he’s been there, observing through half-closed lids from across the room, before casually padding over to sit by my side if he deems me fit to pet him. It’s not because he’s trying to make me feel better. He’s “just a cat” right? It’s him using my emotionally vulnerable state to get what he wants. Little does he realize, it’s his very presence that is a source of immense comfort. He doesn’t need to. He’s just there when I need him. And for whatever reasons and justifications are in our heads, that fact remains.

As is the fact that this move will change us. Maybe for the better, maybe for the worse. It will happen as it’s meant to. I’ll miss him in these moments, when the city is loud and strange, when conversations overwhelm and the lights get too bright. I’ll miss his reassuring squeaks, his subtle purr, his tufted paw resting on top of my hand as if to tell me everything will be okay. They will be. And I’ll be forever grateful for the time we’ve spent together.



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