I woke up two nights ago on a strange couch, with a strange cat looking at me, and it took me a good ten minutes to work out where I was. It was the cat who eventually gave it away. He returned my gaze with the smug complacency that is characteristic of house-cats the world over, and as we stared at each other, my sleepy haze began to clear, and he began to seem a bit less like a dream and a bit more like a familiar. But who did he belong to? I tried to remember the events of the past couple of days. There had been the epic drive from Chicago to Philadelphia. Pat and I had both gone a bit nuts after eleven hours of it; the last 200 miles of the endless Philadelphia Turnpike were punctuated by our frenetic and incoherent conversation, and, when all else failed, frenzied singing. We had spent a night and a day in Philly with our old friends Sam and Patrick, but after that?
After that we had driven home.
Hodge, growing tired of our little game, yawned, blinked at me, and stalked off upstairs to my parents' room to find more stimulating company. I guess we made it home. Where the hell are we supposed to go now?
Sunday, May 23, 2004