I know, I know, Tate is just a cat. But I’ve had her since I was in third grade, when I had a bowl cut and was really lazy about learning how to read. I’ve left her for stretches of time, but for the majority of these past 15 years, she’s pretty much been *my* cat. And now I have to leave her. For this guy:

The way she stares out the window, it’s almost like she knows her life is about to change forever. We’ve had a good run together in this apartment in Atlanta, and she must be as sad as I am to see it all being taken down around her, regressing into kibble and cardboard boxes.

Got my room completely spic and span, and haven’t had the heart to disasemble it, but today’s the day.

Tate just wanders from room to room and lays around, half dozing, all day. Well, that’s kinda what she always does in her retirement here, and usually it seems like a relaxed, content dose. But today, do I sense a chord of depression? She always watches me out of one eye, or the corner of her eye. Right now, sending vibes of jealousy to the keyboard, waiting for my hands to free up.

I feel guilty because I want her to have the perfect life when I’m gone. No dogs, no other cats, no going out of doors, lots of human attention…. but my original plan looks to be on the verge of falling through with two days til my departure, and her future is seeming uncertain. I feel like a bad mom, an abandoner.

I’m also nervous for myself. When one lives with a cat, one is never truly alone. You can count on her warm furry little body to find yours when you come home from work and for cuddle sessions to ensue. In china, I am going to be without my closest friends, without my boo, and without even a kitty face to comfort me.

Gosh love sure does hurt.

I wish Tate could get a skype account.

I hope she’s still around and still considers herself my cat when I return.

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