I am sitting at my desk in a brown and tan dress I bought Sunday when my former mother-in-law died. Interesting coincidence: the husband of my co-worker drowned in the Atlantic in a storm, which is a lot easier to explain than drowning in one’s garage, for instance; even so, there would have been significantly less need for explanation if he’d been wearing a life jacket. Probably. And now I’m wearing a big old dress and my department’s caravaning to a funeral home below sea level.
Lovely Topaz lounges on the table next to my spot on the couch. The pussycats are shedding like mad now. Pete’s surprised when he scritches Topaz and enough fur comes off that we could knit ourselves a kitten. For her part, Topaz will now sit between us on the couch sometimes and let us pet her. This trust is new and we pretend not to notice. It’s funny to lie to a cat.
Madame Topaz is a sweet and timid person disguised as a lovesick teenage pussycat, except that on very rare occasions she will fall asleep on my lap. Mostly, Pete’s lap and mine belong to Drusy, but once in a blue moon the black cat is Topaz. Here, she is napping a foot from my face, listening to me talk. Topaz always knows when I am talking about her and pretends not to eavesdrop when the topic is anything else.
I dislike the idea of wishing away time but can’t wait for this week to end.