“I worry about you when you’re overseas,” my mother says. “I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing.”
I sigh. “Your logic is faulty. You don’t know that right now.”
There’s a pause.
“I’ve made this worse, haven’t I?”
“Yes. Where are you and what are you doing?”
Right now, I’m at work. Working. In 9 and a half weeks, I’ll be boarding a plane to Seattle. From there I fly to Vegas, rent a car, and FINALLY do my research trip for my stupid novel that I’ve been stupid writing for two stupid years now. I’m hoping this will make me feel better about its stupid ass.
Then I fly to Mexico City to join a tour for two weeks, ending in Playa del Carmen. After a few extra days lying on the beach, I go to Japan for ten days of sushi and sumo and sake.
And then I fly home to — I assume — cry myself to sleep and stare at my photos. Oh, and cuddle my cat, if he still remembers me.
My cat is the worst. Everyone knows this. If you shaved him, you’d find a triple-6 and some horns, buried among the scars of a thousand fights. He usually has the fur of several other cats caught between his toes. But you’d never shave him, because if you tried you’d lose your hands and thus be unable to wield a razor.
Lately my cat sleeps on my printer. When he needs a change of scenery, he sleeps in the downstairs bathroom, underneath the heated towel rail. I am the only person he permits to touch him, and we frequently disagree on the manner and duration of this touching.
However, we now live in a house with a couch and a television and a heater. Common things, to be sure, but things I’d been missing in all previous flats going back to Canada (when we just didn’t have any furniture at all (that’s a lie: we had an airbed and a folding chair and an XBox)). So Lucas has discovered something he’s never known before: the lap. The dozy, watching-TV-in-front-of-the-heater lap. The lap that’s usually draped with a fluffy blanket and rarely moves once settled, provided the lap owner has an adequate supply of liquids and remote controls, and reasonable control over his or her bladder.
My cat has become a snuggler.
And I’ve become a television watcher.
I’d like to say I’m only watching TV to lure in my cat (actually, is that something I should LIKE to say?), but since I discovered the Food Network in earlier lures, I’m pretty much obsessed. I will watch anyone do anything to food on film.
So that’s what I’m doing. Picking other cats’ fur out of my cat’s toes. Watching strangers cook. Intentando estudiar español. Waiting to go on holiday.