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In Other Matters

Fall is here. Went from sunny, 90 plus degree days to, well, 49 and rain right now, 9:41 AM. the change is pleasant for now. Its speed surprised us. Just three weeks ago I coped with heat and a sun browned lawn.

I decided to 're-organize' the order for TB's narrative. Beginning that this morning. Been pondering the move off and on for days before deciding to pull the trigger. Save the first version with a '1' suffix in case this doesn't work out and I want to return to it. Feel good about the decision right now but that might be my Mexican mocha talking.

Had a 6 AM call and a 7 AM call where they announced IBM's intention to acquire another security company and create a new security division.

Dreamed of cats, of living somewhere new and searching for missing pets, and meeting new people, a complex pastiche of realizations, movement and action. After searching for the felines that once lived with me but were long gone, I found other cats who resembled them living in my car. When I saw one, I thought it was Jade.

Jade was a striped tabby adopted in Okinawa in 1981 who died in 2002. She was very smart and strong-willed. She survived her pet store cage, reaching out and grabbing my friend's arm as he went by when she was three months old. He adopted her but his son, a budding toddler, tried treating her like a stuffed animal. Jade taught him she had claws, teeth and wasn't taking bullshit off a little kid. Later, he scare her and she fell off a book case onto her head, remaining unconscious for fifteen minutes. That's when my wife and I adopted her.

Jade survived pneumonia the next year but developed asthma had lived on prednisone the rest or her life. Two years later, two habus, one very large one, bit her in the head. It swelled larger than a softball. Two years, she outraced a dobie and climbed a South Caroline pine, stopping once she was up forty feet. After the dog left, she backed down the tree on her own.

In 1991 they said she had cancer and said she had a year. In 1995, they said she had chronic kidney failure, put her on a special diet and said she probably had a year. She finally succombed in 2002, in my wife's arms.

When I saw her in the dream, I said, "Jade." The cat looked at me. "You're not Jade." I had cat food in the car and it had managed to eat some, which I didn't mind. The car was parked outside a mall and strangers were passing by. "Looks like you were hungry," I said.

"No, I'm not Jade," the cat said. "She's dead."

"I know." I was surprised. "You can talk. How can you talk? You're a cat."

"You're in a dream," the cat answered.

That's right, I realized. That's when I understood the other cats I sought were deceased and the building I moved into wasn't my home and this wasn't my life. "Are you still hungry?" I asked the cat. "Do you want to come home with me?"

"No," the cat answered. "I'm still hungry but I'm okay living here, in your car, if you don't mind."

I left the cat without answering and returned to the apartment. It was full of boxes. My wife still looked for Rocky, another cat that had passed on. I told her, "No, honey, he's gone. We didn't bring him here with us."

I woke up thinking, the past is gone. Everything has changed. I need to move on.