Paranoia

A very old picture of my very alive cat.

I am paranoid that my cat is going to get out of the apartment. This is new for me. I never had this fear while living in Manhattan. Oh, okay, I did, but it was always such a fleeting thought it couldn’t really be considered a major neurosis. Now, every time I am walking home at night I think every cat I see is my cat. My indoor, never been outdoors in her entire life, ridiculously clumsy (it is not true that all cats land on their feet) cat. Perhaps it is the fact that there are so many cats roaming my neighborhood, or that there are always signs posted for lost cats, or maybe I just need some new worry to rattle around in my little brain these days. Last week I saw a cat that had been hit by a car a block from my apartment. The cat was grey and white! My cat is grey and white! I had to spend some serious time upsetting myself by inspecting this cat in the middle of the road to make sure it was not my cat. It was not, my cat was at home waiting for me, slightly freaked out by my sudden need to hug and pet her incessantly for the rest of the night. And my new neurosis took on a whole new level of intensity. I need to find something new to worry about, and very soon.

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About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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