I’m a little stunned that this move just keeps rolling on. Here I thought I was almost finished but dealing with the many “little things I’ll leave for later” turned out to be a seven-hour workout today. But now I'm truly done.
As dawn was breaking and I was fetching something from the fridge — yes, it was diet coke at 6:30 in the morning — I realized how much I’m going to miss my kitchen. I’ll particularly miss my spice rack. My new place has all the appliances I require but no spice rack like the two thousand dollar wall-length custom built beauty I installed here. Sigh.
But when I returned to my desk I decided to add the photos of my cabin to an email and as soon as I saw them all pining for my spice rack instantly dissipated. Instantly I was pining for a distant, passionately desired log lover. Three more sleeps until feeding the fire and checking my bird feeders are parts of my morning routine.
Leon’s going to make it but I don’t think he’s going to last long. His passing is going to be a calamity for me. I’ve never enjoyed such intimacy with a pet. He’s extraordinarily affectionate. He follows me everywhere and we “talk” constantly. It’s our bed, not mine. He used to be right beside my, close to my head, every night and morning but that habits declining with his energy overall.
What consoles me is the closeness; he could not possibly have found a more devoted Dad. He’s only been sick once and instead of wearing a plastic collar to keep him from pulling his stiches out, for two days and nights I lay on the couch with him on my chest.
When I was a kid a neighbour gave me a cat. His name was Aleck and he was my first and sole experience with love during my childhood; he the perfect antidote to my absent parents. He died when I was thirteen and when I met Leon ten wonderful years ago it was as though Aleck had been reincarnated. This time, though, I’m conscious of his value and grateful every for second with him and it’s been this way since we met.