It’s strange how the smallest things will set off the strongest memories.
I cleared out the last largeish box in the dining room, broke it and two others down, and went to repack my box of old casette tapes into another, newer box (yeah, I still have casette tapes). At the bottom of that box I found a variety of things, including a a copy of a law review article from a professor I think I must have helped host when he visited my law school (just googled him, only vaguely remember the man), some other old correspondence from people I didn’t recognize, and three sets of pictures of myself, The Ex, and our four cats, Katie, Zach, Alex and Allison. I only briefly glanced through the pictures to identify them, but it was still enough to bring on a melancholy mood. I miss those cats, especially Zach and Katie (our first two, and the first two pets I’d owned outside of my parents). They’d be about 12 now, if they’re still around. Last I knew they were at The Ex’s mother’s place, and were indoor/outdoor cats, something we never allowed them to be when we had them.
There were pictures of all four cats right after we’d given them baths, looking all bedraggled and pitiful. Pictures of The Ex with them as kittens lying around him. Pictures of me with them. Pictures of them in two of our apartments.
Lots of memories, both good and bad.
I’m glad that was the last big box, I don’t know that I could’ve handled stumbling on any more of that kind of thing right now.
