You Know You're a Cat Lady When...

I'm currently transitioning a cat that lived at my dad's house to my mom's house. She's been inside for about two weeks, to make sure she doesn't run away and try and return to her old home. The first day she was confused and sniffing around, and spending a lot of time in the chair I brought over to give her something that 'smelled' right. I was feeling very guilty at the trauma I had exposed her to.

But now, she is perfectly well adapted to the new house, explored every last corner, and she's itching to go outside. Itching, scratching, meowing, she's ready. But I'm not.

I've let her outside twice now. Both times I've followed her around and then brought her in after ten or twenty minutes. I'm starting to think that if I ever become a mother, I'll be the one sitting outside of Pre-K, chewing their fingernails and bursting through the door after half an hour to take the kid home. That's enough, let's go home! See what I mean? Cat lady. Whenever you can link your treatment of your cat to a child, it's time to rethink the warning signs and take control of your life. Before you become a Mother Goose rhyme.

Of course, there are legitimate concerns. I don't want her getting lost, etc. And because she tends to shuffle off any collar around her neck, she has no ID, which brings nightmares of someone else taking her in or taking her to a shelter. But, as is my wont, these rational issues become irrationally dangerous in my mind. I think one of the drawbacks of working at home is that you interact more with cats than with people.

So I'm trying to take a step back and force myself to open the door. These are the trials and tribulations of a freelance writer.

How Many Homes Can One Heart Have?

They say home is where the heart is. But that assumes that there is only one place for your heart, only one place that's really home. In my experience, you leave a little piece of your heart everywhere you go, and that makes it harder and harder to accept one home.

I was born in Germany. I suppose that means it could be my home, but other than fond memories of vacations after the fact, nothing ties me there. I would still love to go back, though.

When I was three we moved to Austin. It is my default home, and I love it, but there have been ups and downs. Being Texan is taken very seriously, and moving here doesn't cut it. It seemed that to many, I didn't belong. Many times growing up I doubted where I fit in, feeling like the only person who was questioning anything about themselves.

That was part of the reason I decided to go to college in New York. The other part was the fantastic school. I found so many people I connected with, and I was able to really experience learning the way I wanted, pouring over books and writing papers and having sincere discussions at circular tables and on sun-kissed lawns. It was all very much like a college brochure, I assure you. Leaving was not easy. I don't know how to live in New York, but I'm not sure I was ready to live outside of SLC.

But in between years in Bronxville, I spent a semester in Prague studying abroad. My father is Czech, which made me want to explore a little of my heritage, especially considering my wandering childhood, which was plagued with questions of what citizenship meant. More friends were made, but the revelation was simply living in the city. Walking down cobblestone streets and taking trams, splurging on Marks & Spencer's dark chocolate digestive biscuits and pushing my way through grocery shopping at Tesco. It was the most independently I have ever lived. But beyond that, I love the city. I joined a knitting group and made my own friends, was able to search out great bookstores, yarn stores, and, most importantly, bakeries.

Other places I've visited and would love to see again (to the point of elaborate day dreams) are Kefalonia, a Greek Island; Paris; Hallstatt, a small town in Austria; and Cesky Krumlov, a historic Czech town. There are others, but these are the ones I'd be sad to never see again. One other major spot is the U.K. With family there, I've spent a total of many months there, and it's a familiar and comfortable home. I considered spending my semester abroad there, and I think I would enjoy an opportunity to explore London and its outskirts in the same manner as I explored Prague.

Now I'm back in Austin, and I'm glad to be back. I'm looking forward to Buda's Annual Weiner Dog Races in the spring, and the Trail of Lights at Christmas. But I'm starting to suspect that there's nowhere I can be without missing somewhere else. In New York I missed being home, just like I craved Mexican food in Prague. But being here, I miss walking through Prague, feeling vastly superior to camera-wielding tourists. I miss my New York friends.

Is there any solution? How can there be, other than suddenly coming into masses of money that allow me a work-free rotational system, with three months in each place, or perhaps six or more, with each rotation taking two or three years. I think my major stressor is the thought that, barring this lottery fate, I might not see some of these places again. I've reached adulthood, and the time for summer vacations has ended. What if I don't have the luxury of travel, which emotional investment has made me feel is a necessity? The world gets smaller, and I can chat with friends thousands of miles away or look at photos online of my favorite spots. But the distances are still the same, the cost is higher, and nothing can take the place of actually being there.

Staring at postcards. Wish I was there. Every there.

Refilling the Nest

Here's the way life is supposed to go: You're born. You learn to crawl, walk, talk a play dollies. You go to school everyday for the next twelve years until you graduate from high school. Then you go to college, and after four years there you graduate with an entry-level job all lined up. This marks the beginning of your truly adult life. If you didn't when you started college, you move all your stuff out of your parent's house and you find a place of your own.

Unless, of course, you graduate without a job and can't afford a place of your own otherwise. Then you move back in with your parents (if they let you), and you find yourself in limbo. You're in your twenties, you should be an adult, but you sleep in your childhood bed, surrounded by the stuffed animals you used to require. You can redecorate and pack up everything you don't need (sorry, Teddy), but the fact still remains, you are living at home.

Of course living rent-free (or at the family rate) has it's advantages, but there's only so long you can do this before you start to feel like a 30-something comic book collector who speaks Klingon and lives in their mother's basement (not that there's anything wrong with that). What exactly is the deadline? I used to think I would only be home long enough to apartment or house hunt and get everything organized. Now I'm entering my third month, and I'm nowhere near a the real estate phase of my life. I asked a few friends before graduation what my acceptable home-living limit was. I was given a year or two. Am I really an adult if I live at home?

Another factor which should not be underestimated is the tension of finding yourself once more under your parent's roof. No matter how much you love each other, or how PG your life is, your parents never expected you back and you wish you had your own place to call your own. It stunts your growth, or at least it feels that way. You feel like you're a mature adult, but you look in the mirror and see the same teenager that went off to college. And how far have you really come? It's hard to believe that you are in fact a different person with a wealth experiences who would probably go through high school much differently now (but please, God, don't make me prove it).

So what can we do when we chicks must return to the nest? Do the dishes and the laundry, be grateful your parents still want you, and live in hope. And maybe avoid the Star Trek reruns, just to be safe.