It is hard to believe that just a week ago FunkyPlaid and I were frantic over the sudden seizure that came over our dear Torgi (left). Since then, we have kept a close eye on him … too close, sometimes, as he wriggles free of my grasp with his version of an eyeroll, daintily-smacked lips.
I can’t help it. I catch myself believing that if we just hug and kiss him enough, our fondness for him will form a type of armour that nothing, not even the natural progression of age, can penetrate. It is this belief, seeped in Roman Catholicism and superstition, that permeated my childhood: if I am just good enough, no one I love will come to harm. I will not come to harm.
Adolescence was difficult for me, as it tore down this belief and shredded it. Bad things happened to people I loved and bad things happened to me, despite my behaviour. I was a smart child but so naive, dragging the remnants of belief from sinking ship to sinking ship. Sometimes I still do.
Sometimes I humour myself.