Day Two- The Curse of the Palumbo.

Shortly after my move to North Carolina in August I developed a distinct need for companionship. Maybe it was the fact that all of my friends have been getting married recently, or maybe it was that I moved to a state where I knew no one. Whatever the case, I decided to begin my journey to officially becoming a Cat Lady by fostering cats.

            This started out simple enough. Some tiny kittens came to my home; I fed them and played with them. They got big enough to be adopted and I took them back. Easy peasy. But during my third batch something happened: I fell in love with a tiny little ball of fur who I named Puff. I took her back to the shelter as planned, but made two more trips up the freeway that week to stare through the glass at her, and to impulsively adopt her.

           

            I was super excited on the way home with her in a box. I don’t have to share this tiny creature! So much fun to be had! But when I got her home and out of the box I began to panic. Why would I adopt this cat?! She’s going to live for like 15 years! I don’t know where I will be a year from now! What if I want to go out of town next weekend?! I have a hard enough time bathing regularly! THIS IS A LIFE AND I AM IN CHARGE. WHO DECIDED THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?!

In this moment of panic I realized: I am my father.

When I was four years old my grandmother asked me to draw a picture of my family. Being an obedient child, I drew my mother, my sister, and myself in front our house. Proudly, I showed my grandmother who questioned my father’s absence. Realizing my mistake, I turned the paper over, and drew my father in front of The Party Store (the party supply company he owned). Within a year my father sold The Party Store, and retired.

When I was young I could never answer the question, "what does your daddy do?". Over the years this question became somewhat of a joke in my house. I couldn't say things like doctor, lawyer, mechanic- instead I would use phrases like, "uuhhhh," and "when? today?"  My parents were both home a lot when I was young. To me, this was normal; my friends who had parents with jobs were the weird ones.

We spent summers driving around the country, leaving the day after school ended, and getting back the day before it began again. We would drive wherever my parents felt called- mostly to national parks, and water parks.  And we always ended up at Disneyland several times a year. My sister and I would go to sleep in our own beds and wake up in the car in the parking lot of an In-N-Out Burger.

The wanderer mindset invaded every decision; a destination was unneeded, long-term plans always stood in the way of the journey. My parents have spent most of their grown-up years resisting being adults. When I was younger my father always grumbled about having pets. Who was going to take care of them? How were we supposed to leave town with these damn animals?
Now, every time my parents call they ask about my future. Have I planned it? Am I applying for things? Where will I be next year? Most of the time I don’t have the answers they want, but that’s fine with me. I look at the life they made for themselves, and how even though they didn’t follow cultural expectations by holding those jobs with 401Ks and retirement accounts they still managed to have pets who died of old age. (Ok, there was the cat who was murdered in front of my sister’s bedroom, but that’s a different story.)

I’m just fine with being a wander, with moving across the country for a year, with not having a plan. Sometimes I look at Puff and I panic a little, but I know I’ll still see the world and make my way in this life just fine.

Moral of the story: Mom and Dad, you made me this way. Embrace it.