The worst days are the ones that don’t end, like yesterday. The best days are often ones where something tragic doesn’t happen, making ordinary life incredibly sweet. Today was a bit of both.
Yesterday I lost the cat. He clawed out of my arms at the vet, ran down an unknown street and into the locked-up back of a hair salon. I couldn’t really sleep and I’m sure he was in a much worse state than me.
This morning I’m sitting on Longden Place at 6:30, holding a cat carrier, getting stared at by daily commuters and once overed by cops. Chamindra actually saw me and tweeted about it. At like 8:30 someone opens up the salon.
I can see the small fellow through the gate (thank God), but he’s still scared of me. I get them to take me round back and I finally get the little fool, resolving to hold on however much he claws. He’s tired, hungry and probably had a fit (he’s epileptic). I put him in the cat carrier (genius invention really, much better than hands) and take him home.
The rest of the day is great, simply cause it’s not fucked. It’s actually sublime.