If there were Dutch people in my neighborhood, they’d be on notice right now. As it is, I have to view everyone with suspicion and distrust, and not just because I have a tendency to see all people in the same dim light. No, one of these bastards, I suspect, has an extra cat roaming their home.

By the way, if you are said bastard, the cat’s name is Ari, and she’ll drive you insane with her talking. I guarantee it. You think it’s cute, the way she doesn’t shut up, don’t you? Yeah, most people do. But give it a while. She’s no different than any other gorgeous but essentially brainless woman. The constant noise becomes static before too long, and then background noise, finally turning into something vaguely resembling fingernails on a chalkboard, only more irritating.

It’s been a rough couple of days without her, joking messages to people who don’t even own computers aside. She’s run off, and so there’s no way of knowing what has actually happened to her — she could be dead, or taken in by the crazy elderly folk down the street, or hiding under a pile of furniture in the alley behind me, or touring with the Dave Matthews Band. And I hate not knowing. I’ve spent hours each day walking the neighborhood, looking for some sign of her (the difficulty of which is compounded by the two strays that look enough like her that it’s distinctly confusing), just wishing that I could find some finality, one way or the other. I hope that if she has been taken in to someone else’s home, it’s at least someone that needs companionship and will treat her well; even the motormouths of the world deserve to be loved.

And poor little Adolf… he’s always been the bigger of the two, and much more akin to my own introverted side. Up until last Thursday, he was fiercely independent (only coming around when company was over or when I was laying on the sofa, something I haven’t done much of since the satellite got turned off a few weeks ago), and really quiet; since Ari ran off, he follows me constantly, right under my feet, and talks enough to make Ari proud. And it suddenly occurs to me that, even though he dwarfs her in size (he’s a right portly bastard, and dense, too), Ari’s his older “sister” — she’s been around ever since he has, and he’s got to be confused. Maybe even a little sad.

And so my spring cleaning has apparently begun in earnest, without me even being aware or in control of it. I had made it through “m” in my CD collection before I got sick, and hadn’t even moved into the back nine when Ari jumped ship. I guess the universe is serving noticed that even I hadn’t realized just how stripped down my life will be soon.

I just hope Adolf isn’t still giving interviews to local news a year from now. If Ari doesn’t come home fairly soon, I’ll just have to make up a story to tell him. And learn how to speak the dark language of the feline, so I can tell it to him so he understands.