the box sits on the bridge
the crowd’s still waiting
— jill sobule
She hadn’t come out at all today.
Bk has become increasingly reclusive in the past few weeks, making only a brief cameo for a wave to the adoring crowd before retreating back behind the curtain. Until today, when she decided to take the day off.
Mo was unrelenting in just happening to go into the bedroom to see if she was OK every seven minutes or so. Of course she hasn’t been OK for a while, but today seemed more like Calvin and Hobbes were in the wagon, heading for the edge of the roof.
Noon went by, then 2 p.m., then Happy Hour. She never came out of her little fort in the bedroom, hunkered down in the darkness in the back of the cave.
Finally, Exactly 6:00 arrived and I hoped desperately for her arrival in the office. But she didn’t show up for work. I was crushed.
I was on the early shift, so I signed off at 6:30 and went into the living room. We watched “E.T.,” because what more could you ask for in a time of stress than a movie about tiny creatures near death?
Our Sunday night party was winding down, along with the Steelers.
The cat walked right past us. Slowly, methodically, never acknowledging our existence in the living room.
Instead, she walked straight into the office and plopped down on the floor in her usual work spot.
OK, she was 2 1/2 hours late for her job. Yes, the paper had already gone to press, or Florida, or wherever papers go on deadline. Absolutely, her heart was not in it.
But she still showed up for work. Hurting, for sure. But ready to go into the game if I needed her. And I did.
What did I do? What COULD I do? I docked her pay, dammit. No fancy food for you tonight, missy. Next time, show up promptly.
Next time. Please.
There’s a secret passage out of here
But I don’t want to reappear
I just want to stay with you in here