One Less Pile, One Cat Watching

There it is, staring me in the face.  Reminds me of a cat I once knew.  He would sit in the window and stare at me.  He was a wild cat, lived outdoors all of his life, I didn’t even know where he came from.  He’d sit on the windowsill and stare in, observing my comings and goings, using my life as his entertainment, judging me.  He didn’t really like me.  He would disappear as soon as I opened the door to put out more food for him in the dish I obligingly filled every morning.  I was his necessary provider and something to occupy his time.

So why does the pile under the end table remind me of that cat?  Guess it’s because it makes me feel guilty.   I feel guilty the pile is still there waiting to be sorted through…the cat, well, maybe I should have invited him in.  That pile seems to be staring at me…taunting me…The cat did that too.  He stared and seemed to be laughing at my inability to live a real life.  He knew I’d never caught a mouse with my bare paws or fought for my life with the neighbor or sat on a fence post singing for my love.  Hah, Mr. Cat,  I might have done that last one.  Anyway, the pile is taunting me.  I’m not a psychologist so I can’t say where this weird thought association came from, but still, it’s there.

Difference is…I can get off my kazoo and go through the pile.  Toss most of it.  Save what I REALLY need and say goodbye to another guilt.  Then it will be gone.  And I am proud to say it won’t live on in my memory like the cat.  It will just be one more pile gone.  I’ll dust the end table and go on with my life just a little less cluttered.  I kind of miss that cat.  I’m pretty sure I behaved a little better when I knew he was watching…cats can be so judgmental.