Serena Escapes: A True Metaphor.

Sometimes an event occurs that is such an apt metaphor for your life that everything seems absurd and all you can do is take to your bed and cry like a baby until you fall asleep.

Here goes.

I worked both jobs yesterday. I also have not managed to avoid the cold that is going around. When I got home last night I was exhausted and my head felt like it was about three times it's normal size. The motion sensor on the porch light was not on so I fumbled around in the dark for the lock and when the door finally opened Serena darted out and ran under the husband's car.
Usually when she does this she can be coaxed back into the house and everyone moves along nicely. She doesn't actually like the outside. She spent a night locked out and was a little freak for about 24 hours after she was safely back inside (the story is here). Last night was not so easy.
I called for her. Nothing.
I chased a neighborhood cat away.
I flattened myself on the dirty driveway and reached under the car. She hissed and backed away. I went to the other side of the car. She hissed and bit me and backed away.
I couldn't just leave her out there. I love this cat and she is an inside cat with no front claws and a limited exposure to nature. She was afraid of the ceiling fan when we moved. That is how not prepared she is to be outside alone in the dark.
I went inside and got the cat food and shook it. Nothing.
I reached for her again and still couldn't reach her.
No matter what I did she retreated. She didn't seem to understand that I was just trying to help her get back inside. She didn't seem to recognize me at all. I was afraid she would run into the street or further away if I did anything to try to force or scare her out from under the car.

Finally, after about twenty minutes she darted back to the front door. On her own.
I opened the door for her and she went inside and hid under the table. I was covered with leaves, scratches, bites and scrapes.

I went to bed and cried and cried. Not just about the cat, but about how tired I was and how futile it is for me to to try to get the husband to make better choices. How futile it is to try to help anyone, really... but still I have to try. Despite the cold and the scrapes and the headache I have to at least try.

In the end though, everyone has to find the front door on their own.