More workers arrived to our apartment this past weekend. They have moved in, reshuffled the equilibrium, and most importantly, given me reason to tell stories about what has happened. I have been around the Puerto Rican block, know the island, and can sound like an expert...something I love to do, especially since I have been the one constantly asking people questions for the last two months.
Out of the assortment of details I've related, the one that evoked the most emotion involved our saga with the cats... specifically, Don Hawk... the cat who's trials and tribulations have been chronicled already on this blog. For a refresher(I recommend this), read the initial reports, a couple posts down from this one.
I spoke of Hawk in detail, told them how we had taken him away, how he had returned, and how we had taken him away again, to his now presumed death. I had scarcely allowed myself to think about Hawk until then. How the situation pained me! Thankfully, the newbies were full of oohs, ahhs, and most of all, awwwwwwwws. It was the past, it was nostalgic, it was fun.
And so it came to be March 5th...
Phillip, Sarah, and Kim had gone for an afternoon of surfing, a route that takes them through the old neighborhood where we had last released Hawk. As they returned to the house in the late afternoon, I heard Phillip's screams first. "Come look!"
And yes. I knew it. Hawk was in his arms.
They had seen him sitting on the side of the road, not 5 minutes from where we live, and picked him up and brought him back. Just like that he was back. I sat down by the door and stared at him, at his once white legs, now sooty with dust. He ran into my knees, plowed his head into my open palm, and it felt good. Very good.
But a good feeling does not solve problems, especially when it comes to rogue beasts... and that is where I find myself now.
Now that I am around Hawk again, and the initial joy of reunion has worn off, I can see that I am the one that has changed. The ruling fist of Don Walter has poisoned me, and I find myself to be, bluntly, an amalgamation of hypocritical emotionz. Late last night after he returned, I found myself sitting alone with him, cuddling by the door, rough-housing like we used to. But then this morning, I saw him sitting outside the door and felt an uncontrollable rage, and in turn I punted him four or five times in the ribs and butt, making sure that he had fled down the street.
One moment I am in love, the other I am desperate to get him out of my sight. Later, Kim had left the door open like we used to do and Hawk had wandered in on his own accord, weaving through the table legs like he owned the place. Instead of coaxing him, however, I felt panic and let out a tirade of threats.
"If you let this cat in the house again, you're going to have to answer to Don Walter," I shrieked. "I have taken the fall way too many times already, I will not do it again!!"
I picked up Hawk and chucked him out again, shouting obscenities. But then, just hours later, I was out wandering the streets, wondering where he might be, peering into hiding spots for his familiar shape.
................... Yes. Now it is obvious... I am a confused, old friend, of Don Hawk. As I sit now and reflect on the situation, I attempt to piece together the feelings. I want him close, but not close enough to be seen as a relationship... in the eyes of both Don Walter and Don Hawk. He needs to be a casual stopper-by, an independent man... or it is not going to work. I have closed the book on elicit intimacy... and I will not tolerate a battle with Don Walter again, I will not put stress on the friendship we have forged since the initial battles began.
At least for today, that is. :-O