snafu

Situation Normal : All Fouled Up. That's what we called JoJo, the idiosyncratic tabby who wound his way through my early childhood, sniffing at candle flames and leaping at laser pointers. All early photographs have us coming as a package: JoJo and me with the nerf basketball, the pair of us under the kitchen table doodling, a picture of us both dolled up for a cold Halloween. Eventually he got bored with his adoptive family and left the way he'd came, slipping out the front door never to come back.

Driving westward on I-80 I used to think about him. In my child's mind I figured I-80, if you were looking for new beginnings, was the obvious choice for a starting line. I'd watch carefully every passing barrier, every stark green sign, hoping for some small note from my lost friend.

Eventually it became habit and now, whenever I turn on to the freeway just past The Red Lobster and ShopKo, I search the road.