I am a slave to water. Water only runs for me from 10am-1pm, and last night I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it to Saturday which would be the next time I’d be home when the water is running. I washed my dishes with little pots of water from the bucket, rinsed conservatively with thin, steamy trickles. This, “My Water Situation“, has become my most aggravating difficulty. I live with piles of dishes and dirty clothes waiting for the next free morning. I have only mopped once because of Winter’s inability to dry my floors, but now that Spring is here, I just need to be home between 10am-1pm. A couple of weeks ago I had such a bright spring day that I jumped out of bed for that Spring Cleaning. I used every moment of running water right down the last gasp of the water pipes.
Last night, with my greasy hair and greasy chocolate chip cookie dough bowls, I realized it was only Monday. I just didn’t see how my bucket water was going to stretch. However, this morning, to my great surprise, the gurgling pipes beat my alarm clock to the punch. They woke me with their churning at 8am. I jumped up, pulled on jeans, and got to work. I even had time to take a bath. So today the sun is shining, and I’m clean. I’m only now realizing that I forgot to fill the buckets you see here. Baits vochinch! No worries! A bright warm spring day is enough medicine to get rid of that tiny regret.
But not this one: I went to work last Thursday and didn’t come home until 9pm. Sanity was no where to be found and now has been gone for 5 days. People say she’s going to come back, that she found some tom to run around with. However, I have no luck with kittens it seems. I am remembering KittenCat who was taken by the neighbor. I remember the lurch and slide of the big red van in the rain, the wet bloody splotch of blood on the driveway from my sister’s little calico whose neck was whipped around by the engine fanbelt. There’s Little Critter who was THE BEST KITTEN EVER, that is until some strange lady carried his newly flattened body to our front door. And way back when I was in preschool, I had Catcher, who’s chubby body was squashed under a couple of motor cycle tires.
So let’s just say I’m not holding my breath. Still, multiple times every night I walk around the neighborhood or simply open my door to the chilly night and call her name, thinking maybe she’s going to run around the corner. I didn’t realize I would miss her this much. I was never the kind of guy who cried over pets. But when I reach that point where I’ve actually given up hope, I just might surprise myself.