Cats who disappear without a trace leave us no closure or finality, except for Slinky: I found her when the snow melted. They don’t leave notes telling us why they ran away. Like the last episode of the Sopranos, the possibiities are only as limited as your imagination and your willingness to face the violent truth.

I ran away from home exactly twice in my life, once when I was four or five, and once again after I was married for a few too many years. Both times I left notes. My mother saved the first one because she thought it was cute, and my ex husband saved the second one and brought it in to my shrink for analysis. In essence, they were the same:

“I leffed home frum yur famly becoz yu were meen too me. I am tacking blanky and bluey.” (Bluey was the name I had given to my favorite pillow)

That’s what the first one said, the charming mispells and scrawled, kindergarten handwriting (yes, I was so eager to read and write I learned way before my time, just like my daughter did) . Oh, and I illustrated it, of course 😉 With a stick figure of a sad little girl with one of those hobo packs over her shoulder.

The second note was called “My Life As A Ghost”. Somewhere around here I still have a copy of it. It should be entered in some psychological journal somewhere as a disturbing self portrait of a woman experiencing severe dissociation as a result from living too long and too closely with a clinically diagnosed narcissist. It was all about how since no one could see me, I was fading away piece by piece, and basically, was running away before I lost what I had left.

The last note was followed by an addendum which stated I’d be taking our daughter, George the rabbit, the Saab 900, my two jade trees, the Le Creuset and some clothing, and signed

I Quit,
Your Ex-Wife

There are times I feel like writing a third note, entitled “Fuck All Y’All”, but I don’t because I have a daughter, three ( soon to be four) cats and a puppy that no one else would put up with, to take care of. My daughter is not home for 24 hrs and already her father is fucking with us. My electricity got shut off ( it’s back on, obviously) and I took at least a dozen crisis calls from the fat angry incompetent bitches at work ON MY DAY OFF!

I’m getting hate mail from some psycho who thinks I stole her boyfriend ( an amusing side note, really), while I was on the phone with my boss fixing her problems she alluded to my ‘dressing like a slut’. Ah well….at least I can still almost pull it off…let’s see: a daughter in tears over our finances….could my day get any better? Thank god for Peter, who in his infinitely twisted goodness, gave the remainder of his bottle of codeine cough syrup to me. I had a very peaceful sleep.

All things in moderation. I’m not about to write the final ‘I Ran Away From Home’ note, or destroy myself a little at a time, because I will not have that family legacy passed on to the lovely young lady who is still asleep in her room at 11AM on a day when she really should be out looking for a summer job. Let her rest. I love her more than anything and will sell a kidney on eBay if I have to.

Nana is asleep and snoring in the big chair and one more day we’re allright.