The Wheels Go Round And Round

Every morning, someone I'll never meet does a little creative writing project and emails it to me in the form of a daily horoscope. I have no idea what it means but I don't take it seriously. The person, if there is a person, who writes these things may or may not consult the stars, the Magic 8 Ball or an Amtrak schedule. I can't know. Even so, sometimes the horoscope is 100% right, in a non-Ta-specific manner. Today, for instance, it advises that making a symbolic gesture will lead to change in real life; clean up!

I have been cleaning my apartment with extreme prejudice. Last night, it dawned on me that I should paint the closet in which Larry hid out during the difficult last weeks of his life. Since I can hardly think at this point, that idea seems like genius, and if it's not, I can blame any dumb thing I do on fumes.

Yesterday's big irrational thought was What if he weren't really dead and I left him with terrible people who would do who knew what to him? I spent most of yesterday trying to keep my hand off the phone and calculating odds. Would people who didn't really put my cat to sleep tell me they hadn't put my cat to sleep? No, of course not. Eventually, I had to remind myself over and over that they were good to him and to me, and since I trusted them while he was alive, he's dead. I have not abandoned him to - say - medical experiments. These doubts are even funny; they had their honest start in the office, on Tuesday morning:

Tata: No. Let's put him to sleep. No more tests for him.
Substitute Vet: Is there someone I can call for you?
Tata: What?
SV: Is there someone at home we can call? Someone you'd like to be here for moral support?
Tata: What?
Anya: That's why she brought HER SISTER.

I was explaining this to my mother, who couldn't stop saying, "What?" either, when it dawned on me what the substitute vet was saying.

Tata: So apparently he thought Anya was my lover and he wanted to call my husband.
Mom: Was he telling on you or caring for your cat?
Tata: Both?

A few weeks ago, a friend and I started tossing around ideas for an art project, which seemed hopeful. Georg is right: I need projects, and I've been avoiding people for about a year while I put everything into making a living and taking care of Larry. Once again: I'm not saying that was rational, but I did it. Anyway, I ordered supplies for this art project and didn't expect them until later this week. An hour after Anya and I emptied the apartment of Larry-related objects, the UPS truck delivered those supplies.

I couldn't have gotten the message more clearly if it'd come marked AQUARIUS.