With Cat Towards Appomattox
One can argue, oh it's not that bad, the smell of your cat defecating in her carrier, first time about 10 minutes into your 4 hour trip and the second time, kind of a freshen up, at about the 3 hour mark.
I talk to myself, mostly just inside my head, and especially during extended periods of solitude.
You going to clean that up? Naw, I'll just breath through my mouth. Aren't you worried about the stink, that palpable stink--sticking to your tongue, coating the insides of your mouth, lining your lungs? Naw, not really man, I haven't kissed anyone in days, and haven't really spoken to anyone in days either, other than to grunt at cashiers in stores when sliding my card or handing over cash, so I'm not all that worried about the potential waft of cat dooky escaping through my mouth. What about your cat, don't you care about your cat? Yeah, I care about her, in proper proportion I think, but she hates traveling. She's not going to be happy inside or outside that cage, and she has the good sense not to roll around in her own shit. Me cleaning up that crap is not going to make her that much happier. What's going to make her immediately happy is when I pull into the driveway, open her cage, wipe the two inches of hanging viscous drool from her chin, and fill her food bowl. She'll be purring up next to me ten minutes later. If I ask her then, hey do you remember the last four hours being nauseous and stuck in a small cage with just your own extracted poop for company, she will only respond with a blank stare and maybe a lick to my hand. I will cup the entirety of her small head in my palm and with my fingers knead the back of her neck, and say, that's a good kitty.
I'm not sure what I'm daydreaming about while driving but I'm on my way to Appomattox, 20 miles off course, before I know it. There are no mountains in site and that is wrong. I'm traveling on an easterly road when I should be traveling on a...I have to pause and picture in my head N. Carolina and Virginia on a map and where they are in proportion to each other. I can't see it. I should be going north, or south, I am certain of that. But which one? I really am at this moment the definition of stupid. The next time someone calls me a stupid ass I will in all fairness have to nod, or shake my head, it doesn't really matter which, and just take it. I'll see a sign soon and it will have on it both a direction and a nearby town. Before veering off I had been outside of Lynchburg so I don't need to go back there. I am heading towards Charlottesville. It will be easy. I will get back on track. I really don't remember what I was thinking about for those twenty miles. It was as if I just woke up and I was 20 miles in the future. I follow the mountains back home, through Charlottesville to Madison county and follow 231 into Rappahannock. Stretches of 231 are fairly breathtaking. I can breath through my mouth for a little while longer.
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