I couldn't really describe what was happening inside me other than to say I was undergoing some changes.
Previously, I tried to control the process myself, thinking I was some sort of editor, snipping out parts of myself I found lacking and trying to add in traits I found desirable.
Of course, I didn't work despite my valiant efforts because my life wasn't like one of my manuscripts that I could edit. I think the problem was I expected to be perfect when I was full of flaws and helplessly human.
I don't think I ever really liked myself and that was the problem.
Experimenting with lucid dreaming as a way of controlling my night terrors was also a dead end. If Nat was right, those nightmares were my subconscious talking back to me and trying to repress or silence them wasn't going solve what was going on inside me.
I was trying to control everything and that was a dead end. It was the opposite of what I should have been doing.
Probably the best thing that happened to me was adopting a stray cat, because suddenly something was demanded of me and I had the care of a tiny life that took the focus entirely off of me.
I think I'm on the right track because even running into Scarlett Thomas didn't sidetrack me. She was my cocaine rush in university—an incredible physical need that was toxic both to her and me.
But ever since I rescued Tux I feel something hard has melted inside and I can't go back to the way I used to be. Hell, I'm ever feeding the birds I never noticed before and worrying about them out in the cold.
I also realized I know nothing about how to properly look after Tux, so I'm headed to the bookstore to purchase a book on caring for cats.
I know, it's kind of over the top but the little guy's my responsibility now.
I end up at a quaint little book den called The Shop Around The Corner that reminds me of the bookstore in the movie, You've Got Mail.
A tinkling bell announces I've entered, but no one appears to offer assistance, so I browse. I finally find the pet care books at the back of the store.
I'm so immersed in reading I don't notice the owner standing beside me until I happen to glance up and am startled as if I'd seen a ghost.
"I'm sorry," the girl laughs, "I was out back putting on the kettle for my tea."
She's incredibly beautiful and has a voice soft as the whisper of wind in trees.
"I was just browsing for a pet care book," I explain, colouring, embarrassed by my jumpiness.
"Call me if you need any help," she smiles.
A few minutes later she drops by and notices I'm perplexed.
"Having trouble deciding on the right book?" she asks.
I nod. "I recently adopted a cat and have no idea what to do let alone decide what's a good book to use."
She listens sympathetically. "I have a long-haired ginger cat named Scribbles and I'm still learning things about her and it's been two years. Don't be too hard on yourself—cats have a way of telling you what they need."
"Oh, that's a relief. Well, at least I know he likes chicken and staying close to me."
"Sounds like you two hit it off. Would you care for some tea?"
We end up sitting in a nook where she can watch the store while chatting with me. She's very gentle and warm and I find talking to her very relaxing.
"Books can only take you so far," she says, "becoming a cat whisperer is an art."
"I guess it helps to talk to someone else who owns a cat."
"You're welcome to drop by anytime for tea."
I end up buying two books and making a new friend. It turns out her name is Charlotte and she loves Agatha Christie and British mysteries.
She’s not aware I’m a writer and I don’t mind the anonymity.
When I get home I realize I spent two hours talking with her and it only seemed fifteen minutes.
Unlike Scarlett or Sofia there’s no seduction or flames of passion, only gentle conversation.
Tux jumps up on my lap and senses an unfamiliar presence. He sniffs my hands and clothes, then settles down and cuddles close to my warmth.
I think he accepts her too and doesn’t find her threatening. I don’t know why that seems important to me but I’m happy that’s his reaction.
He likes peaceful, quiet things, so I can probably trust his instincts.
Maybe I like quiet, peaceful things too. Maybe I should follow my instincts...
And, maybe I should have tea again with Charlotte
