Bird

I woke up this morning from a dream that I had come, alone, to a party. It was afternoon, Spring, outdoors behind the house where my family had lived when I was young. I didn’t know any of the people there. They were all wearing white.

There were dozens of cats wandering around. They looked well-fed; they were all striped grey and white. I kept telling people I was looking for Bird, but I didn’t see her anywhere. People would come up to me holding grey-and-white striped cats, and I would say, “No, that’s not her.” I kept calling her name.

That house was where I had found another cat, Missy, when I was in eighth grade. It was a Spring day then, too, and I was sitting in the window of my room, looking out at the street and the woods beyond, when a car coming up the street slowed down long enough for the driver to toss Missy out the window. I ran outside and picked her up and brought her in. She became my mom’s cat, and lived for nineteen years. She died this past Winter, two months after my mom.

In the dream, I never found Bird.

I’m going down to Christa’s new apartment this afternoon, to take the last of her things back to her. I’m also reading Mankiw’s chapter on “Income Inequality and Poverty.” More later.