. . . although she has seen me use them to transfer her food from its can to her dish--which is an obtuse way of ambling toward my point, namely that last night I was finally back in my apartment in The Bronx, and so was Jenny, my cat. My weekend was exhausting, beginning on Friday after work, when I carried a couple of sacks of books back up to The Bronx, and continued with ten more trips on Saturday and Sunday. (Strategy: Take items such as chairs and bookshelves on the subway very early in the morning.)
On Sunday afternoon I fetched Jenny from my generous friend and took her home--and I still had a few more trips to make. By 1 a.m. I crawled, muscles aching, into bed, losing consciousness almost before my head hit my pillow. When I happened to wake up in the dark sometime later, Jenny was fast asleep against my leg. She woke up and nuzzled her face against my shoulder, saying “massage my neck” and “I’m glad to see you” and “scratch under my chin.” She reclined near me, and as I fell asleep she tapped me on my cheek, saying “pet me more.” So I did. And when dawn woke me up, Jenny was sleeping nestled against my arm. Two months was a long time for us to be apart, with only a few moments in my hectic stupid schedule when I could visit her.
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