As the local weather gurus were touting a winter storm passing through the area today as the next ice age (“Stay inside and stay tuned to NewsWeather 7 for the latest updates! And don’t change that channel…you could freeze to death or get cancer!”), anxious mothers packed the local grocery stores to stock up on cocoa and canned soup; the elderly rushed out to procure their life extending prescriptions; and yours truly rushed out to Best Buy and Barnes and Noble for a fix before the artic onslaught. Maybe it’s me, but there’s something sort of magical about the first winter storm of the season. The wind whistling outside, the glistening icey branches of the trees, the snow falling in the streetlights — looking at it from my window, I feel alone in a different way than I usually do. Not a bad different, just…different.

* * * * *

Sitting here at 2am, listening to the sleet on the windows and looking at my cat Truman, with his perpetually furrowed brow, I wonder what he would be like if I had been even remotely happy during his formative stages. Soon to be thirteen, he has spent most of his adult life walking around our various homes, “grumbling” (a very distinctive growl/mewl/whine blend) and guarding me. Highly resistant to most any type of affection unless he specifically seeks it out, Truman prefers instead to sit at arm’s length and watch me with my other cat, Josie. He seems to live vicariously through the interactions of others viewed from afar. Like father, like son.

Given to me during the last months of my time with Gregg, Truman was the only thing I had during that time that was consistent. I would get up, go to work, come home, go straight to bed, then start the whole thing over the next day. I would sleep away my days off. And through it all, was this sweet little kitten by my side, content to be there, never demanding any of the attention he needed and deserved.

As I type this, a curled up Josie asleep in my lap, Truman is sitting across the room, watching me and I can see the loneliness in his face, I can tell he wants to come over and be a part of our little family. I also know something inside won’t let him and I’m sorry I created that in him because I know how it feels — I don’t allow anyone to get too close and I rarely make any effort to maintain relationships simply because I don’t know how any more.

And I’m not sure what sucks more: feeling like that or having reached a point where I’ve made peace with it.