April 24th, 2008


Cricket keeps tabs on all of us. Once she has established that one of us is in a place and likely to stay there, she wants to check to see where everyone else is. Yesterday afternoon I had to bring her outside because she couldn’t check on Brent from my office. She lay in the sun almost exactly equidistant between the two of us, lifting her head if either of us moved more than usual.

This morning, she rode along when I took the kids to school. She watched me get out at 7-11 and get back in the car. When the kids got out at Peet’s, she went from window to window, trying to keep them in sight as long as possible. It concerned her when Syd walked into school. She followed T. with her eyes all the way along the sidewalk as he approached the gate of his school and only settled into the seat when we had turned the corner.

It’s disconcerting, really, being watched so much.

She tilts her head to the side, as if trying to figure out what I am doing and why it is more important than sitting on the floor tugging rope with her, or petting her, or giving her snacks. I begin to wonder what I am doing and why it is important, myself.

Why am I inside when it is sunny outside? Why am I upstairs? Why do I carry things up and down? Why do I wiggle my fingers and make odd noises on top of my desk?

I have no idea.