The Bloody Doors Off

Marlo and I have a running joke.

Izzy likes to have conversations. And you know she’s telling a story. The nuance in meows is so bloody expressive.

Anyway. Izzy has a boyfriend.

A cat that lives in Denver, Colorado.

They met online. While we sleep, they chat over Zoom.

The story keeps evolving.

First, Izzy wanted to fly out to Denver to meet him.

We, of course, said no.

Having lived through a couple of long-distance relationships in my 30s, I have sound advice.

Be prepared to have your heart broken, cat. And that doesn’t mean it’ll be them that reconsiders the relationship.

Long distance is hard.

I dated women I’d met online. I can count them on one hand.

There will be no details.

These people are, mostly, still my friends.

And it’s not my place to share details.

But suffice to say, I’ve been on both sides of the coin.

Right.

Dunno why the tangent there.

Back to Izzy.

So yeah, the story’s evolved.

He wanted to visit her in Toronto. But we said he couldn’t stay at our condo. It wouldn’t be fair to Auggie, to be so horribly outnumbered by cats.

They’ve exchanged ‘I love yous’.

Now, Izzy says they want to elope to Vegas.

God dammit.

This is what my writing has boiled down to.

Recapping imaginary conversations with my pets.

I need a drink.

So I’m not gonna have one.

Because it shouldn’t be because of need.

Needing a first will, in turn, justify another.

Good thing I recognize when I can handle the drink. And when I can’t.

I’ve been out of sorts since yesterday.

Like an ill wind blew into town and upended my centre of gravity.

(Yes, I’m aware the wind has actually picked up outside in the last hour.)

Earlier, I made a trip to St. Lawrence Market for groceries, and the pharmacy for a package.

The sun was out. Light breeze.

It was of the good.

I need more moments like that.