Conversations with my feral cats

Lazed around at my campsite with Mini Scaredy until 4 in the afternoon, drifting in and out of one strange dream after another. . . Every now and then I’d think of rousing myself and getting up and actually doing something. And Mini Scaredy would just sort of look at me and “meow,” which translated into English as, “Just pet me some more and then curl up on these nice warm blankets and go back to sleep, bub.”

It’s so different from when I was younger. I used to start off every day with this “To Do” checklist with about 20 items on it, and then I’d spend all day running all over town, dutifully checking them all off, one after one. . . I can see how as you get older it could become easy to just sort of give up on life. Part of it is that you’re simply running out of energy. And another part of it is, you’ve already seen pretty much what this life has to offer you, so it’s hard to get that excited or motivated to get out of bed and chase after it all over again. . . I remember something this junkie once said to me: “After awhile you stop wanting to do anything except doing junk. You think of getting up and spending the day at the beach, but it’s more satisfying to just lay there on your nod imagining how wonderful it would be to go to the beach than actually going to the beach.” . . And I guess I’m getting more and more like that myself. Preferring to just space out into my head trips than actually engaging with the world.

I just explained this all to Mini Scaredy, and she looked at me and “meowed,” which translated into English as, “You’re exactly right, pal. Now go back to sleep.”

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