It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday

Okay:

So tomorrow is the big day. I am officially saying goodbye to my shithole of an apartment and moving to greener pastures. A posh spot in Brookland with a parking lot attendant and free cookies in the rental office. Good cookies. And coffee.

Today I took the day off work to handle some last minute business.

Mainly, had to find a new home for my cat, Samira. I have been privately stressing out about this for about a month. I have had Samira for six years. We were like an old married couple. She destroyed the furniture and coughed up hairballs all over the place. I cleaned up behind her, put out food when she whined. Took her to the vet two or three times a year. But I ignored her mostly. I was infatuated with her when she was a precious little kitten, scared of her own shadow. But once she got big and furry (really furry!) the spell was broken. So, like I said, it was a lot like a marriage.

So then my daughter ended up developing a mild allergy. Then there was the expensive pet deposit and monthly surcharge at the new spot. Then there was the hairballs and the furniture covered in fur and the smelly litter box and the hundred dollars or so in food and litter every month and the hundred dollar trips to the vet and the groomer every few months and I decided it was time for us to part ways.

I put an ad on Craig's List.

I put out a mass email to coworkers, friends and family.

Nobody wanted my six-year-old, ornery American Longhair.

I had to take her to a shelter.

Maybe I could have done more. Maybe I could have been more aggressive or diligent in my search. I did what I could.

When I dropped her off, I took one last look at her through the bars of her carrier. She did not know that it was the last time she would see me. She thought I was leaving her with the groomer or the vet. She's so stupid.

I walked out and cried a little bit on the way to the car. Yes, Cool Cee Brown had a moment.

Later, I went to my mother's house to pick up my daughter. "How's the packing?" she asked.

"I took Samira to a shelter today," I said.

"Are you depressed?"

I shook my head, no.

"I was depressed when your Uncle Beau died," she said. "Then I got over it."

Leave it to my mother.

Well, "Even young Cassius got his ass kicked/The point is when he got laid down/he didn't stay down."

Who said that? I did. Seems I'll have to take my own advice on this one. *sheds solitary tear*

I'll miss you, Samira. You would have liked the new apartment. But you would have fucked up the carpet.

Thanks for reading.

Tip of the day: Beware of drunk-texting. I once texted my mother something containing the words "pussy" and "toss".

Shameless plug: I will be performing LIVE on Thursday December 6 at Bohemian Caverns (11th & U St, NW WDC) with Heron Gibran, Dirty Water, The Sound of the City Band & DJ 2 Tone Jones. NO COVER. 21+. Doors open @ 8. Showtime @9.