The last time I moved was also the last time I saw my cat. I don’t know how that hadn’t occurred to me before, but it did today in church, and I actually started to cry, right there in my pew. The night before I left I stripped my bed, so we slept on a sleeping bag, and she stretched out next to my head. I had forgotten until my parents adopted their kittens how sweet it is when a cat rests its head on you and goes to sleep, but it’s such a trusting gesture, and Lancaster was always doing that. Most of the time I can think about her and feel ok- I don’t have a lot of regrets because I loved her absolutely and she understood that as much as cats can, but today I feel sad. I really miss her, and it keeps hitting me that I won’t see her again, and no matter how solid a goodbye I said it can’t make me feel better because I didn’t want to say goodbye at all. Fortunately, my friend Sam just called, and we’re meeting to study pediatrics, so I can’t just sit in my room (in my running clothes, because before I got into this crying-over-my-cat thing I was planning on going to the gym, so wore workout clothes to Mass, like an inappropriate person) and look out at the fog and feel miserable. It’s a good day for that kind of thing, what with the chilly, gray weather, but that’s just too self-indulgent. Instead, I have to wash my face, and get dressed in real clothes, and go be a functional person. I’m not sure I’m cut out to have pets.