Flashes of Panic

When I am standing in front of a half-loaded laundry machine, holding a blue cat collar in my hand, I am thinking of a few things.

I am wondering how I didn’t notice the collar before reaching the laundromat.

I am thinking of the day, a week or so ago, when Iz woke me up for breakfast and didn’t have the collar on. (This state is referred to as “naked,” as in, “Iz! Why are you running around naked?”)

I am wondering if I should drop the collar in with the rest of the wash. The blue is fine, but the white letters might be a bit dingy. (The letters are his name and our phone number, stitched on his collars since he won’t wear a tag; he sees tags as toys which happen to be attached to him.)

I am thinking about his habit of sleeping in my laundry hamper at night, and I am hoping that he pulled open the “safe cat” release on the collar by himself. Maybe he wanted to wear the red collar again. That would be preferable to the collar snagging on the hamper and forcing him to pull it free.

Now Playing: Mercy House from If You Lived Here You’d Be Home Now by The Nields