in the meantime
I do see your point... sometimes a cat is just a cat, and sometimes a cigar is just a cigar... let me put it this way: I'd rather not be sharing my living space with this creature. I would have preferred if V. had not lured it in the house while I was sleeping and I'd feel a good deal better if her new pet were not staring at me right now, all wounded eyes and patchy, mottled brown fur. To V. it is just another hurt creature, one more appreciative of her kindess than I appear to be. I hate the cat because I can't look at it without seeing its potential as a surveillance device, but I know that I am not an insane person, even after everything. Someone, sometime, has to lead them back to G.
"You must be feeling better," V. said last night. "You're getting paranoid again."
Do I detect a trace of bitterness? I suspect we have been driving ourselves slightly crazy in this sweltering heat, and our tacit understanding that silence is the best policy. I stare at my leg, white and bandaged as if it does not belong to me. I feel almost perfectly well, until I stand and try to move and then I realize how slowly I am recovering.
Without the luxury of my usual habits, I've been spending more time on the internet, searching for some sign, some hidden clue, and sometimes just losing myself in the chatter.