Timing

This morning, as we left for work, Eleanor sat at the window sill, and Moby not two feet away on the lower level of his tree. The intense tension had ebbed to minimal. He's not eating well, but then, he often doesn't. Eleanor is an eager eater, already not as painfully boney as when we brought her home. This may become an issue, but we'll deal with it after she's more settled.




Moby still not happy, wary, complaining. But he's becoming resigned to the new reality. There are still issues to be worked out, further negotiations to be conducted. It's like the garden, I knew the time necessary, but it seems to be taking SOOOOOOoooooo long. It isn't, really. Not even a week yet. Just as I knew it would take five years before the garden was what I hoped for. Took less than a year to be half way there. Looking back, very short. In the middle, endless. Watching an hour hand move.

Patience is largely a matter of practice. Knowing that impatience causes misery, and has no function. Waiting for busses, or trains, or plants to grow. Or friendships.

Had the chance for a four day weekend, and accepted gratefully. It works out, because of the state holiday on my scheduled day off next week. I can use an impromptu holiday. Nothing specific, but a sense of wear and seediness. A preference for time away, lived at my own pace. Or that of two cats who have not found a balance yet.


Dig a hole. Tomorrow, I will dig a hole. That always helps. Now, and next year.

These things take time.