curiosity

Yesterday I brought the cats over to the new place.  Both were traumatized by the car ride.  Holly wailed non-stop the entire time.  Sherman sat down and was silent in the strange way that causes more concern than all the wailing in the world.  When I opened the door to the carrier, Holly bounded out - all confidence and curiosity.  She was purring within the hour.  

Sherman, however, did not fare so well.  He pressed himself as far back into the carrier as he could and did not emerge for three hours. 

it's a terrible feeling to watch a helpless creature suffer and to have no way to comfort it.  even though he was just laying there, i could see his heart pounding so quickly and his eyes were the saddest saucers i've ever seen.  there's just no way to explain change.  my heart broke and then broke some more.  

At one point, Sherman felt brave enough to try to step out.

But the feel of the carpet texture must have been too much.  He quickly drew his paw back and stayed inside for a while longer.

You might think I'm cruel for just snapping pictures of the poor thing while he sits there in agony.  The experts (websites), however, say to let the cats come out and explore on their own time, and to just behavie as normally as possible.  Trust me when I tell you that having a camera clicking in his face is very high on the normal scale.

eventually he explored a little.  cautiously.  belly to the ground.  

they were so different in their reactions to change.  i love them both for their own reactions in different ways.  

i think i am probably a little more like sherman.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>fast forward to the next morning

 When I woke up, Holly was bounding around like a pogo stick.  It took me a minute or two before I realized Sherman wasn't with her.  I searched all the hiding spots.  Twice.  No Sherman.

When I discovered the open screen on the front window was also loose on both sides of the bottom, it became clear to [6:45 a.m.] me that Sherman had pushed himself out of the screen and, unable to get back in, had gotten lost.  Or ran away to sniff his way back to Olive Ave.  I panicked.  Absolutely.

I was the crazy new woman in the neighborhood sobbing and calling her cat's name loudly at 6:45 a.m.

Wild thoughts ran through my mind.  I called J and cried into the phone.  I solicited the help of a woman walking her dog.  Neighbor lady Toni came out in her moo-moo and offered search around and keep an eye out.  I envisioned myself breaking down in the middle of teaching new students day 2, thinking of poor terrified Sherman alone in the world.  how could i do this?  why is the world so cruel and confusing?

I went back in to double check and retrace my steps like a goldfish around the bowl.  When I moved the bag of shoes under my bed slightly, the littlest freckled pink nose and the biggest saucer eyes I've ever seen appeared from the side.  

I cannot explain the relief.  I just don't know the words for that heart language. 

I've never lost a kid in a mall or anything, but I can maybe understand a little bit how those parents feel.

This is Sherman at 7:01 a.m., not only bewildered as to where and why of his current existence, but now wondering why his human friend is sitting against the wall, openly weeping.

but let's be honest, sherms.  that's nothing new.