Eight hours I drove alone from Atlanta to Cincinnati stopping twice–once at a gas station and the second time for gas and a brief stay at a Starbucks where I sat inside my car eating a salad I’d packed for the road. It was a good salad and a great break from the steering wheel gripping journey through heavy storms. Thoughts of Toes kept me going through the rainy misery. I was finally going to bring her home.
Or was I? No, I was.
The doubts didn’t start creeping in until the day before I was supposed to leave Cincinnati. I’d been hanging around Toes for a few days at that point (visiting her at my parents’ house while I stayed at my aunts’ cat free house). The tell tale signs of my allergies had returned–itchy eyes, nasal congestion, and difficulty breathing.
Have I mentioned I’m signed up to run a marathon this coming Sunday?
And I didn’t think through the timing on that when I scheduled my trip home to pick up Toes. Bringing her back and stirring up all my allergies a week and a half before I’m scheduled to undertake the biggest physical challenge of my life so far. Probably not a great idea.
So the morning of my departure, I asked my parents if they’d be okay keeping Toes longer, and they were. I called David and tearfully explained I’d be leaving her there, and he said that made sense. And Toes sat in her cheetah taco bed content with everything.