Turn Signals

            I love the sound of turn signals at night. My dad—he used to love to take meandering roads when coming back from visiting family—a three hour trip turned four and a half hours. Turn signals meant we were off the long roads; we were close to home. 

            Some things in this life feel like that long road, that extra meandering. It can be painful. One can lose hope. On these roads, I wait for the chunk-CHUNK, chunk-CHUNK. I want to get back home. 

            Unlike road trips, the long roads in our lives can take us to a home we’ve never seen or been to before. We are ourselves—familiar; placed in the new—unfamiliar. And in all these unfamiliar homes there are elements of good and bad that must be unpacked, sorted through, and lived with. 

            I am on a long road, and my heart holds its breath to hear the turns begin. When I get home, I hope it gives a welcome—that it is strong enough to hold my heart, my life. 

            Until then, I am the child laying in the backseat, lulled by road noise, waiting.

YAAAAAAAARRROW!!!!

The mower hit the mulch and gave a blending sound; as if it was grinding the ice for the daquiri I’d deserve after this. “Oooops!” Mowing close to the house is always a task. Tasks are plentiful this week, as we prepare for a party. It’s a party to honor an amazing family that are moving away, so beloved of our community. 

            Carpets shampooed, clutter contained… mischief managed. The cleaning for the party is both reckoning and apology to the house that has contained our little lives so faithfully. 

            Mowing done, back to the garage with it. Wait!

            I hadn’t yet watered the outdoor plants. Water the flowers out front. Water the porch plants in back. One more trip to get the hose… tomatoes! Can’t forget those. 

            YAAAAAAAARRROW!!!! As I walked to the spigot, I am alarmed by I-don’t-know-what. What is making that unearthly sound??? yyyyyAAAARRRRROW!!!!! Hunched down by the wall, small… so small. It’s a cat, terrified. Dinner plate eyes, covered in grass and debris. Puffer-fish fur; on high, high alert. A cat. An orange cat. 

            “Oh, honey!” The poor thing is clearly terrified. It had got caught between the mower and the wall—and I hadn’t even SEEN it! How frightening, I almost blended up a tabby baby. 

            I kneel down and call, “honey…” It walks toward me and I realize: IT’S MR. LOU. It’s my own indoor cat! My sassy sunshine boy, all good mood and gluttony. 

            He had somehow sneaked out of the house during my lawn mowing process, and I had nearly run him over without knowing it! He was TERRIFIED! I picked him up and held him close as I took him to the back door. Setting him on the step, I try to brush off the grass and debris, but he looks disoriented and like he might try to bolt. As I open the door, he SHOOTS in to safety. I finish the debriding job on the linoleum of the kitchen. 

            Amusingly, instead of heading toward the water as I would have guessed, he heads straight for his cat food and eats like a TRUCKER. Well, that’s another thing we have in common, the emotional eating. 

            Once done, he flops himself down on the carpet in the dining area, looking for all the world like he had been in the house all day, never been close to being blended by the mower, never terrified out of his mind. 

            Rescue over, I turn myself back to the task of thirsty tomatoes, thankful that I needed to water them; knowing that had I not, I would not have even known he was out. Wondering how exactly he got out of the house, got between the wall and the mower. Heart recovering from the terror on my catkitty’s face. Grateful.

            What a close call. 

            Safe.