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Sorry, Wrong Number

04.03.2012 by J. Doe // 3 Comments

My phone rang yesterday. I didn’t recognize the name or number, but since it was a local area code, I answered. The woman on the phone says she’s lost her cat and been given my phone number to call for information.

I’m confused, and don’t think much of it, since I have one of those phone numbers that sound like it belongs to a business. I tell her she has the wrong number and wish her luck.

She calls back a little while later, and I don’t answer.

A little while after that, I get another call, this time from a man – also with a local phone number, so I answer. He says he’s been given my number by the Pet Microchip Service, and that The Child had found his cat, which was dead.

I say, there must be some mistake. My Child would have told me if she’d found a cat. We have two pets registered with that same service: The service made a mistake. I hope you find your cat.

A short while after that, the service calls. They had received a call from The Child the other day, they say. She reported finding a dead cat with one of their collar tags a few days ago. She found it at the College next door to our house.

That doesn’t sound right, I tell him. And then it hits me: Yes, I have two pets registered with this service, but in my name, not the name of my eleven-year-old child. And I certainly didn’t mention that I live next door to the College when I filled out their forms.

I call The Child, who’s at school. Her teacher brings her to the phone.

Sweetheart, I say. Did you find somebody’s cat recently?

Yes, she says.

Do you know what happened to the cat? I ask. The owner called me and wants to know.

The cat died, she said. So I buried it.

I’m sorry, what?

Where did you bury it? I ask.

At the college, by the tree, she says. I don’t know. I’m not really sure. I put it in a shoebox and I buried it.

Why didn’t you tell me this? I ask.

I don’t know. I didn’t want to.

Why did you bury the cat?

Because it was dead, she says.

This is all perfectly logical, I think. But is it normal? Do I want to know? Does she need help? Do I?

I call the cat’s owner back and report that, yes, my child found his cat, called the service number from the collar, read the ID to them off the tag, and then buried the cat.

Did she find just the collar? Was the collar on the cat? he asks.

I realize what he wants to know: if the collar was found but not the cat, maybe his cat is still out there.

Except I’ve just told him, my child buried his cat. I repeat this.

That’s … incredible, he says. Then after a pause: Is it possible for me to speak to this child? I’d just like to understand what happened.

Yes, I tell him, call me back this evening after dinner. I’d like to talk to her first.

I pick The Child up from school and in the car, we discuss the cat. She answers all my questions: Yes, she wore gloves when she touched it. She buried it near the tree near the tulips, but isn’t sure she could find the spot again. Yes, it was definitely dead: something had been eating at it. And she didn’t tell me because she just didn’t want to talk about it.

Which I guess I can understand.

Once we cover the facts, she tells me about her day at school and the game she played with her friend.  She really liked the Hawaiian bagel I put into her lunch.

That evening, the man calls back at exactly the time he said he would.

The Child says, okay, I can talk to him. I can do it myself.

She takes the phone into another room, and comes back in less than five minutes, done.

I ask, was it okay?

I ask myself, Is this normal for eleven? Is this mature? If so, is that good? And a hundred other questions.

She says, Yes. He was nice. He just wanted to know where the cat was buried.

I say, well, I can understand that. We’d want to know too.

Yes, she says.

I should say something here, but I’m at a complete loss. Finally I try: I think you did the right thing, honey. You were very mature.

She walks over to me, and puts her arms around me, and buries her head into me, and weeps.

 

This post is linked up with Just Write and Pour Your Heart Out.

Categories // All By Myself Tags // single parenting

Trolling

01.22.2012 by J. Doe // 2 Comments

Yesterday, I went to see the Fremont Troll.

Why?

Because I can.

I’ve lived in Seattle for a decade now and I honestly couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to: it seemed to me there was nothing to do, and the people were hard to meet and when you finally did meet them, harder to connect with. A very lonely place.

So why didn’t I leave? Well, I was married, you see, and he didn’t want to leave – not Seattle, nor even the house, most days.

Until the day he left: The One Who Should Have Gotten Away.

In the weeks that followed, friends I never knew I had rushed in to fill the vacuum that had previously defined my life. My calendar was not only filled, but overflowing – I’m booking things two to three weeks out. Suddenly, I’m the one who doesn’t reply to emails very quickly because … I’m too dang busy. Who are all these people? I must get to know them.

Seattle is suddenly interesting, too. I walk up the street and where there was once a vast nothingness, there are suddenly restaurants and shops I’ve never seen before. Filled with cool things. Yummy things. Things that make me giggle. People who make me giggle – people who didn’t talk to me last week are suddenly chatting with me like we’ve been besties for years.

They direct me to other things I’ve never seen before, and introduce me to people I’ve not yet met.

Huh.

So yesterday, after being snowed in for a week, The Munchkin and I expressed our gratitude to the universe for the miracle of cleared roads, and hopped into the car to go … somewhere. We heard there was a Troll under the Fremont Bridge, and we wanted to meet it.

This proved a bit tricky – Trolls don’t have street addresses that I can enter into my GPS. Nor, apparently, do their bridges. So I set the GPS for somewhere I hopes was in the general vicinity of the Troll, and off we went.

We drove around in circles. We got lost. We tried to confuse the GPS by  impulsively took exits just to see what was there (Look! Mexican food! We love Mexican food!), and driving in the opposite direction of where it directed us (GPS lady was not amused). We got a nice view of the Seattle skyline from someplace that was nowhere near the Troll, but pretty nonetheless.

We got bored driving around, and parked the car near a bridge, which had a pedestrian underpass – so we ignored the steps and handrail and skittered down the hill, through the mud and leaves and under the bridge where we found The Troll.

He was huge and troll-like and awesome.

By the end of the day, we’d met the Troll Under the Bridge, seen The Center of the Universe, eaten sushi from a conveyor belt, and admired the Fremont Rocket. Also, we had pie.

Glorious, guilt-free pie, with extra whipped cream, please.

We even chatted with the pie guy.

We did it all. We’re going to do it all every day. Because all of a sudden, quite unexpectedly, we can.

Categories // All By Myself Tags // single parenting

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