40 Days in The Wilderness - Java's Walkabout

Well, technically it was from September 16th through October 25th. Still, my cat's time away was close enough to 40 days for the sake of this story.

I think it's interesting it ended up that way, mostly because 40 is a Biblical number. It's the number of years that marks a generation (think: Exodus) and also the time necessary for self-reflection (think: Jesus' temptation desert fun time). Apparently my cat needed some self-reflection.

The odd thing is, when we found her, she had changed. She no longer wanted to sit by the second story window (the reason she got out in the first place). She had no desire to inspect the front door. The cat doesn't even want to play. All she wants to do is sleep and cuddle. She is so clingy, she cries when we leave the room. Wherever we are, she has to be touching us. For example, the other day I was watching some television after work. Java was sitting on my lap. I realized I had to email something to my boss, so I got up and sat in a chair with my laptop on my lap. Java cried for a while, then she moved to the very edge of the bed, as close as she could be to my seat. It was only then she finally fell asleep.

Speaking of sleep, she loves it. But her sleeping habits have changed. Not only does she sleep a ridiculous amount, but she no longer hides under the bed. She has to be with us. She has to touch us.

She also has to stretch out. More often than not, she will sleep in a Superman position, sometimes on her side, other times on her belly. Her front paws will be stretched out in front of her, while her back legs extend behind her like a superhero in mid-flight. It's adorable.

Things could have been much worse. Thankfully she didn't decide to start peeing in corners or eating garbage. Java hasn't decided to start biting or scratching incessantly. A little extra crying is something I can deal with. Regardless of changed habits, my adorable familiar is back, happily purring like a 60s VW engine. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Missing My Familiar - Java

Java's gone.

I don't know how she got out of our loft but she did. Maybe she fell. Maybe she jumped from the second story window. It doesn't really matter. I haven't seen her since Sunday.

My heart is breaking.

For the past 4 days I've functioned. I forced myself to do what I needed to do, because there wasn't much more I could do. Making flyers, reporting her missing at the shelters, talking to neighbors, searching late at night with bags of jingling food only goes so far.

I'm in a slight haze. If I stop to think about it, I know what's going on. I just don't want to stop. I can't. Except right now, I can't think about anything else. She's not here. If she was, she'd be hounding me for pets, purring up a storm before settling on my belly as I write this. It's moments like these that are the most painful.

And I know she's a cat.

I do.

But she's also calmed me when I was aching, helped me heal when I was broken, and made me laugh just because. She chose me that day four years ago in the adoption room at the pet store. I remember her leaping to me as soon as the cage door opened. I remember thinking, I guess this was meant to be!  As long as she was alive, I never expected to be without her. And here I am, a week almost gone, and I'm alone.

Christian let me get a cat because in part he thought I needed a baby substitute. I think a lot of people our age do just that. They get pets because they feel like they can't have kids (or don't want to). In many ways, Java was (is) our fuzzy baby. But she's also just an animal.

That's what I keep telling myself.

And I think I would be fine if I knew where she was,  had seen her, or knew she was dead. I think I'd be alright if some family had taken her in and loved her (but of course, I'd want them to return my Java).

Not knowing is the worst.

And I'm afraid of never knowing. I'm afraid a week will become weeks, weeks will become months, and months will become years. I'm not sure when I should start thinking about another animal, if I should at all.

But she's just a cat. She's just a cat - my cat. And I miss her terribly.

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A Writer's Delusion - The Paradox of Creation

When Christian comes home these days there is only one thing on my mind - writing. I am full of Jeremiah's story. The result is not just that I talk over scene after scene, but I begin to live the book and dream reality.

It starts like this: I'm typing. I stop. I say something like "I got to this part..." I type for 5 minutes. I say "What do you think about this?" Of course, I never explained what "this" was. Christian is completely in the dark.

I'm only half present.

I am likely to be this way for the next 6 months. It will be from varying degrees, but nevertheless, it will be. This is because I am determined to finish 8 books (completely) by next July. This means not only will I have to finish writing the several books I have now, but I will also need to begin several more. Cover art, rewriting, editing, and publishing will all need to be completed.

This might be crazy. It may make me crazy, but I have to. I can't waste my life and not do what I was put here to do. It also means I have to leave this world.

To create anything requires a person to leave reality, at least in part. Artists flourish in the realm of the soul. Everything has multiple meanings. We live in the paradox. We are the paradox. Everything is simple, complex, beautiful, ugly , terrifying, and soothing all at once. Nothing is as it seems as we live in the dream - the waking world.

It is easy to become lost in this half-life. For this reason we need things to anchor us to life. Family,  friends, even pets can serve to bring us out of the created and back to real life.

If there is any life purpose for a familiar, it is this. Perhaps this is why my cat Java follows me constantly. Maybe this is why she yowls at me regularly through the day. Whatever the reason, the result is I come back here. For that I am grateful.

Unfortunately my husband has to suffer through the process a little more painfully than my cat. Poor Christian! Though he keeps me from going crazy, my periodic catatonic state has to be incredibly frustrating. I guess that's the price he pays for having a writing wife.

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