Well, the cat came home finally at 6:45 this morning, swaggering casually into the kitchen while Hope was feeding the other animals breakfast.
I tend to read into things too much. I remember when I was eight or so, on a church trip to Cape Cod, asking the minister why God created mosquitoes. He said, in his sonorous preacher voice,"To teach us patience," and all the grown-ups laughed. But I immediately started crafting different, more nuanced answers, whole sermons about how the lowly mosquito should make us examine the nature of our our own relationships, how our desires & appetites affect the world around us and blah blah. We are never so well-assured that we speak the truth of the universe as when we are eight.
Which is basically a longer-winded way of saying what I said before: I overthink things. So when the cat was still missing at bedtime, I wondered: do I take things too much for granted? Should I be happy with what I've got, and not sweat the slings and arrows, just so long as my sweet happy life with Brian and the cat stays intact? Or do cats just sometimes need to take a day, to celebrate leap year and do whatever it is they do when we're not watching?
Anyway. I'm just glad he's home.