This morning as I watched the tide recede, again, a haiku washed over me.
Leave for a week huh?
Barf on chair, shed, shit on bed
Granted, I wouldn’t prefer to be in some cat carrier at 30,000 feet next to a yapping Pekingese, but a whole week alone with nothing but a picture window of the sea to entertain me?
I do remember going down there, to the shore, at low tide—oh, those little pools of delight and wonderment! Those were the days. Before the dark times. Before the Fancy Feast.
The sea lifts and falls, lifts and falls, and I search for a fresh place in the litter box where I won’t get a dangler. Just you try having one of those for a whole week. A whole week.
This evening the girls returned from their week-long vacation. As usual, they were altogether glib about leaving me here to fend for myself alone.
Shapes and shadows you
Depart, arrive newly scented
Always the same
Sure, I let them pet me, but tonight I got even. In the midst of moving things in from the car, they left the door open—and I hit the open road!
I’m not sure how long I’ll stay away, but a week should be adequate. There’s so much to see on the coast and it’s been too long since I enjoyed a road trip. The girls may not think I can fend for myself out here, but that’s where they’re wrong. Fancy Feast?! Fresh seafood is freely available at low tide if you know where to look, and I do.
Ah, the scent of redwood and sea mist.