we may learn how to care for ourselves.
― Socrates
Tux
I found the best way to deal with anxiety is to go for a hike. My house is located near a nature trail so it makes it easy for me to squeeze in a walk or a jog anytime I feel stressed and today is the perfect time.
I've been oppressed by these night terrors and now am worried about Sofia coming back into my life, so a hike through snowy woods is just what I need to take my mind off my anxiety.
After a brief mild spell, the temperature has plunged back into the freezing range and an overnight Alberta Clipper has left about a foot of snow on the paths. It'll be like slogging through sand but the exertion will do wonders for my angst.
I change into my winter hiking gear and venture out into the icy wind.
The path is more clogged with snow than I figured and I have to forego my plan to jog and opt to hike instead―actually, it's more like plodding and snowshoes or cross country skis would help if I had them and knew how to use them.
My readers think I live in Canada so it's like the Arctic, but 27 of the U.S. states have locations further north than where I live. I'm more like a New Yorker―a weekend hiker and so citified I spend the winter by the fire with three layers ―a tee, a long-sleeve tee and a sweater over that. Oh, and lined jeans―yeah, so much for the Great White North.
I'm muttering to myself while facing into a wind that's blowing ice pellets off the trees that sting like tiny grains of sand. And then I hear it, a pathetic, little mew, coming from under a pine bough.
I stoop down to spot a black and white tuxedo cat shivering from the cold.
I reach out and scoop him up and he snuggles into my arms. Since the wind is in my face, I turn back towards home and yes, I open my parka and tuck him inside to try to keep him warm.
Back in my front room I make a nest from a blanket and set him down close to the fire. He's purring so loudly, it almost breaks my heart.
Within minutes he's fast asleep and I sit watching him for an hour until he finally wakes up. I give him some leftover chicken and fresh water and after he's finished he 's on my lap. I'm feeling protective towards him as if he were a lost child.
I'm surprised by the almost paternal instincts I didn't think I had and I want to adopt him although I've never owned a cat.
But it seems he already owns me and I'm scared because he must belong to someone and they'll want to have him back.
I phone Nat because he's a psychologist and I haven't a clue what to do.
"A cat eh? You need to check with the SPCA to see if he's micro-chipped or if anyone's reported him missing."
My afternoon suddenly is planned out for me. I don't have a pet carrier, so I put him in a cardboard box, but on the drive to the animal shelter, he gets out and sits beside me, purring and enjoying the ride.
The girl at the shelter seems bemused―probably because I'm like a helicopter parent, asking a million questions.
"He's not micro-chipped and nobody's reported him missing, yet," she says matter-of -factly. You should really wait two weeks before getting too attached to him."
The cat nuzzles his face into mine. "Um, probably too late for that," I sigh.
She hands me a tote bag she's prepared for me―litter pan, litter, kibble and a few cans of wet food. "Try him on this food and see what he likes."
"He likes chicken," I tell her.
She swaps out a few items and hands the tote back. "How long have you had him?"
"Two hours and fifteen minutes," I whisper.
She nods. "Don't worry, he's probably a stray. Check back every few days, but I think he's adopted you."
I nod and she pats my arm. "I think he's found a good home."
I drive back with the cat sitting beside me, purring away merrily and looking quite content.
As soon as we get in, he heads for his bed by the fire and I put on a fresh log and watch till he falls asleep.
The day that started out so angst filled, has settled down into a drowsy night. Snow is falling again outside the window, patterning itself against the pane.
The tiny life I rescued from the nature trail is now contentedly fast asleep. I'll call him Tux. Why? Because he needs a name.
There's a feeling stirring inside me, I'm not even sure what it means, but for the first time in a long time, I somehow feel complete.
I sit by the fire with coffee wondering about changes happening inside me.
<br><br> <center>To be continued…</center>