The Curious Case of the Butt Pat in the Night

Now that I’ve got all of Memphis pissed at me (for those of you keeping track, that’s fans of Gail Kerr, mid-century modern architecture enthusiasts, Methodists, and now Memphis folks), it brings to mind my favorite story.

A million years ago, my friend B., was in college in Memphis and I went to visit her. She lived in a big old mansion in a really run-down part of town. It was her and like ten or fifteen other art students and theater majors.  She was the only one I knew, though.

So, we went to bed and I fell asleep and after a while, there was a tapping on my butt. I looked over at B. but she was fast asleep. Clearly not her. So, I made the reasonable assumption anyone in my situation would make. This must be the time of night everyone who wants to switches partners. And here I was, being called on to be a gracious guest to someone else in the house. I pretended to be asleep and not notice. The tapping on my butt continued.

And I got to mulling it over. I mean, fuck it, right? I’m in Memphis, with a bunch of arsty-fartsy interesting people. So, okay, I guess let’s do this.

I sit up.

It’s her damn cat. There is no exciting debauchery the likes of which would scandalize my parents. It’s just the cat for whatever cat reasons tapping on my butt.

Thanksgiving and Stuff

Our Thanksgiving situation has been resolved with far less trauma than I imagined would be involved. And I’m going to get to meet my niece!

I think the main thing I miss about having a dog is that I feel like my soul is smaller, like it has retreated back into the shell of my body. The thing about a dog is that it is just constantly producing wonder. You wonder if it needs to go outside. You wonder where it will be in the house when you get home. You wonder if it would enjoy going to the park or going for a car ride.

I just don’t wonder about the cats in the same way. And the cats never look at me with the same sense of “Oh, wow, it’s you!” Don’t get me wrong. The orange cat especially is trying to fill in–making sure the Butcher has someone to nap with and that I have someone to at least do some of my walk with. But he can’t fake sincerity and there’s always a bit of slyness in a cat, a bit of aloofness that lets you know his whole heart is not with you.

And I just miss having someone around the house who is all in. I miss there being someone I can be all in with, too.