A Cat Person

August 23, 2015

A Cat Person

I had been hesitant to post this, mostly because this blog has been so negative lately but also because I don't want my family and friends to worry about me too much. That said, I promised myself I would be brutally honest on this platform. I'm okay. Please, bear with me.

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So it goes, my boots and iced coffee days continue – they go on and on and on.

That’s one thing you forget when you’re not hopeless. It takes being a certain distance into the black fog to truly realise that time just keeps going, whether you’re ready or not.

The days arrive and take you with them, or they come and go like they are someone else’s days.

The last week has been a bit of a blur. I’m not sure whether to attribute it to the Ambien or the sickness or the sadness. I assume they’re working in cahoots; evil allies that, at some point, appeared to be working for and not against me. Alas, there’s nothing happy about this happy hour.

And this black dog is not an easy one to tame.

And I think my biggest mistake was spending weeks trying to shoo it away or distract it with treats rather than teach it to lie down and, ultimately, roll over.

To both my detriment and that of others, there’s no manual, no obedience school for this beast.

And it hasn’t a breed. It’s an evolving mutt. It comes back in different forms: Begging at your door, tearing apart your trash or lunging at your ankles. It yelps and whimpers or it bares its teeth and growls.

It’s big or it’s small, it’s a skeletal stray or a shiny purebred – but it’s always there and it’s always black.

I don’t know, to be honest, how to combat this.

I’ll always be more of a cat person.