The Thursday before I moved, I was convinced that I let my brother's kitten out because I could not find him anywhere, and I had left the door open to look through my mail as it was a nice day. I did not see him leave, but my dad was pretty convincing. We looked outside, both yards, calling him. I decided to look upstairs in my brother's bedroom, remembering his fondness for the closet. Listening closely, I heard a faint yet frantic "mew." I opened up a drawer and that little orange tabby jumped out of there with such gratitude and relief, purring to me that I had this feeling that, as much as I'd feared (Everything is going so well/then I lose my brother's cat/ and It will ruin our relationship) that affairs would take a turn for the worse, I was at peace. I never let him out; I never thought I did. I didn't even close him in that drawer. So I didn't ruin anything, lose him, and nothing bad happened and no one was upset with me.
After the experience, I realized how wrong I was to blame myself and how easy it was to just fall into the belief that the kitten would be .....lost in the wild shall we say. My father and older brother were convinced he was gone for good, so since I left the door open, I figured he was too. But I didn't see him leave. Because he didn't.
So, I am still learning this lesson in trying not to diagnose myself anti-social after being here less than a month. Sure, I don't know what kinds of things I like to do yet because I haven't jumped right in. Because I don't do that. I kind of fold into myself and hide out at first. I have done that in every situation that I have ever been in. As much as I want to dive right in at first I use swimmies or just dip a toe in. And just because I don't do things now on week 3 doesn't mean I won't. Because a certain Eli the Tabby taught me that I could be wrong about myself. I gotta open the drawer of this new life......
And find myself.
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