Fezzik In Paris

Packing is hard. Usually, it is not.

Under normal circumstances, I would consider myself a member of the reductionist/wing-it movement; if there is even a hint of doubt regarding whether I’ll need an item, said item stays home. That philosophy changes, however, when one has to pack for an entire year. In effect, one is shedding the vast majority of the material items one owns, and in doing so, to borrow a phrase from Shadow Warrior (the at times strangely thoughtful 2013 release), taking a sort of spiritual laxative.

With that in mind, I’m not sure what to make of our experience of a few days ago; a cat tree I had placed out on the curb for heavy trash day suddenly reappeared in a Bullrito’s parking lot a bit down the road. Having somewhat randomly gone out for frozen yogurt, I spotted the wayward tower out of the corner of my eye. We diverted to the parking lot in question, and there was the cat tree, sitting in the parking lot, looking a bit worse for wear.

 

 

It’s just a cat tree that used to be mine, that I willfully discarded, in the parking lot of a shitty fast food joint, but I’ve found my mind wandering to this odd coupling over the past few days ; I want to go back, to walk up to the cat tree, to shake it theatrically, to demand of it: cat tree, what did you see?