I just yesterday realized the synchronicity of the fact that I am reading White Oleander, about foster care, at the same time that we are hosting Boddington for five weeks.
Boddington is an amazing cat and we don't want to let him go. We've had him for five weeks while his mom was in Hawaii. And now she's back in Oakland. She wanted to come get him yesterday. The heartbreak began.
She'll be coming today to get him... and the little furry guy who would nestle under my chin to sleep, lodged against my neck, will be gone. The sound of scampering claws as he bats around one of my hair ties on the hardwood floor, and then races after it as it flies: gone. His idiosyncratic way of twisting his head upside down, as if the floor had fingers and would scratch his head: not to be seen by me any longer.
I'm sure Boddington would prefer to stay, given the top tier treatment we offer cats in this household. Ah, Boddington, I hardly knew ya!
(Here's Boddington emerging from the bottom of a "dark Scottish loch"-- the mural of Lake Merritt).