New Things...for Louie

So Alina's been gone for nearly three weeks now, and I have, in a way settled into this new situation (with some help), as settled as you can get I guess. I guess we all have our own ways of settling down in the situations we find ourselves in, different yellow-brick roads leading to the Wizard, the biggest gimmick of them all!

First, let's make one thing clear. This is not the first time that I find myself in this situation. I have lived with just myself as company for longer periods of time. But that was usually on business trips, cooped up in an extended stay suite of one kind or another. There's this careless dehumanizing affect these suites have. Starting with the essentials, 4 big plates, 4 small plates, 4 bowls, 4 spoons, 4 forks, 4 knives, sachets of bad coffee, a coffee maker. It's like stepping into a little island, where your life has already been laid out for you. All you have to do is step inside. You can reach out and make contact, but it has to be fleeting, like you're just flirting with time, and there's nothing more to it.

Other times it's been with room-mates of one kind or another. That was more like building up a mock family, sharing chores, stories, and ambitions. A family that comes very close, and then disbands with the apartment.

This time, it was unique. Alina and I built a home here from scratch. Got everything from a sofa to a broom. Slowly and persistently we made the two rooms and the two baths and all the blank walls in between our own. Items were hung on the walls, and the sofas were sat in to leave our prints. Eventually the apartment became our own little planet, one that only the two of us cohabited, ventured out of, but always returned to.

Now that I was left alone in this little world of ours, I found myself in unfamiliar waters. A "home" in my book is defined by the people who give it life. And suddenly half the home was gone...on vacation! But what of the other (lesser) half? What does he do. The thought to move into an extended-stay suite came to me, but I rejected it as idiotic, childish, and plain and simple silly. Then I thought of sub-letting our second bedroom temporarily, but that somehow felt inappropriate as well.

So after a lot of thoughtful contemplation, I did what any sane man, in my situation, would do. I got a cat! He's an eleven-year old Chocolate Siamese. Looking at him, I feel that he's been through quite a lot, and yet he still has this weird sense of serenity about him.

A little history, Shamrock (that was his name) was put up for adoption as his last "head of household" developed allergies (she was okay with the four other cats she had), and the alternate would be a short life at the shelter before being gassed. Now Mr. Cat found himself in a situation he hadn't been in before, on the lookout for a new household in the years of his life where he would have expected to slow down, and take it easy. To me, it felt fated for him to become a part of our home. So he came into my life (and eventually Alina's life) last week.

I call him Louie, not the king, but more like "Louie, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship...", and he impresses me everyday. With his sense of cleanliness and hygiene, a hidden need for attention, which is never played out like say a puppy, but a mature reflection really. And the way he's bee sizing me up. At times I feel that he's been evaluating me for the most important job in my career. And then he impresses me with the grace he imparts, be it just strutting around within our home, or scratching the back of the sofa with his declawed paws, or just lying on the cushion besides me, as I show him Casablanca, so he could understand where his name comes from.

So this goes out to Louie, who helped me settle down into this new, albeit temporary, way of living.