So far I've finished all the practice problems in Kaplan and Barron's, with most of the Princeton Review done. However with the exception of Barrons, the math problems are usually too easy...and Barrons can be out there--Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas out there. The practice verbal sections stay pretty consistent by contrast; same as my scores on them (which is a good thing).

I'm doing all I can every day, all day, covering 100-300 words, some math sections and reviewing. This latest diagnostic test I took showed me that being excited + doing math = fucked in the ear with a lamprey. But hey, if I can rank 60% when I'm making really imperceptive errors, think about what I can do when I stop being emotional.

Overall I don't mind putting in this much work. I really like the challenge of the questions, actually, as well as the focus and solitude.

----

The general GRE test aside, Moonbeam still hasn't come back. It's been 3 weeks. At first we thought that he had been eaten by a coyote or raccoon. My mother's friend/psychic, though, told her that the cat wasn't dead but had been locked away in some well-meaning's neighbor's house. I wasn't sure what to think of it. I was raised in New Age mysticism but I have trouble with that whole undivided faith thing.

Imagine my surprise on Thursday when I overheard Scott telling mom that he'd gotten a message. He sounded giddy. I put down my books and walked over. He mentioned that a neighbor had called about an all white, short-haired cat. Mom was suddenly consummed and near the edge. She called, confirmed things with the nearby neighbor and jogged out the door. I followed.

An old man greeted us and mentioned that the cat liked to sun 'herself' on the deck sometimes, that she was curled up under a tree just nigh on an hour ago. I was beside myself. Was the psychic right? Had Moonbeam gotten out? Mom went through the side door cautiously. She chided me to be slow and quiet. I obeyed. The neighbor followed behind. We rounded the back corner of the house.

'Yup, she, er, he's just right over there, near the bushes,' he said.

I saw a white cat with short slick fur look at me. It starred for a second before darting into the ground cover of the sharply declined yard. The face just wasn't right, I thought: too chubby, too pompous (since Moonbeam was/is more of a casually pompous cat).

Mom got angry for us approaching since Moon had never liked men. She called out to him and descended the sharp incline, roving from this side to that. She was brazen in her affection. Neither I or the man said anything as we stood there. Mom then began to sing divine names in Hebrew, which was a good tactic: whenever she started up a ritual the cat would usually come bounding up. Surely the cat would remember hearing that.

Good reasoning aside, I absolutely hated it. Some fundamental part of me shirked and felt repulsed by it. I'd never told her that I felt that way, nor will I ever. Allegedly if you don't like hearing divine names chanted, you aren't resonating harmoniously with the proper balance of the universe/God. Perhaps I am lost in some ways, but hearing her do that is acidicly cloying. I try not to let it bother me but it does, it very much does.

Finally the cat had scampered down near the hiking/horse trail. Mom was on the verge of tears, face scrunched and lined as if she were holding back. I told her it didn't look like the cat. She calmly argued with me. I wasn't 100% certain myself so I told her that the trail down there could be easily accessed. She snapped out of it slightly and took on that determined look again.

I scouted ahead down the trail while she fetched some proper shoes. I passed by a small girl, no older than 8, trying to walk two dogs. She gave me the eye as her dogs whined in fear. I made my way down to the area where the cat had skidded to. I noticed that the girl was behind me and coming up. I decided to slow down. It seemed as if she slowed down. I became angry. I just wanted to wait for mother, but then I felt compelled to act as if I was walking down the trail. The girl kept a very wide distance and slowed down as much as I did. I finally decided to turn back around and just wait, to hell with paranoid neighbors (who'd just as soon literally call the cops on you as wave at you).

And so I heard the Hebrew being chanted again. Mom came down. She walked to the edge of a low wooden fence which contained a palatial backyard. She kept calling for the cat in all the affectionate names she'd given him. I stood on a not so distant ridge and starred into the darkness there. I hoped perhaps I could catch a glimpse of him.

That's when she began the singing in earnest. It was low and perfectly pitched, as if springing from an elven maiden or a long-dead ghost. I stood there in the dimming light of dusk, my left hand dripping with a mostly eaten nectarine, the light being swallowed in shallow sips. She would move through 'his favorite song' three times before calling out to him. She'd even brought his favorite toy, a small plush fish tied on a plastic fishing pole.

I can't remember the last time I felt so much pity and flustered well-being. Eventually the sun set and her face descended into a veil of wrinkles. I wouldn't have been surprised if she completely broke down and began to wail. Her voice trembled. She said that he should have recognized her, that he should have come home right as he got out (like the psychic told her), that he should have recognized his mommy. I was equaniminous, neutral, trying to get her to see that maybe the cat wasn't Moonbeam afterall. I put my hand on her shoulder as we walked up. I didn't like the singing or despair but I understood it. I missed the cat too.

As we walked back home I was walking up the driveway. A car was slowly coming up the hill. Mom started to walk toward it. Maybe she thought they were coming to say something about the cat. I watched her for a few minutes then ducked back inside to study. Later on I heard her complain about how myself and the neighbor had just walked up to the cat, with her saying it was no wonder that the feline was scared. I shrugged to myself and went back to studying.

I still hear her singing on the trail sometimes. It hasn't lost any of its potency.

----

Photography:

Neo-Habitat

Description: It works for some bizarre reason, doesn't it?

previous - next