I suppose I should mention why I brought that up. It all has to do with Jox, my roommate's cat. I'm not sure but may have cursed it.
(DISCLAIMER: This is probably an overly-long explanation.)
I am not really a cat person. They are ok at a distance and in small doses, but give me a dog anyday. My roommate has two cats, Two and Jox. They both drive me crazy with the shedding and the jumping on kitchen counters, but Two has the redeeming quality of extreme cuteness. Jox and I, on the other hand, do not get along. I think he is creepy--his face looks almost human. He also has a homicidal tendency to lie in wait on the stairs, ready to get under my feet in the dark. I often mused about how much nicer it would be if he was gone. Still, idle threats and name-calling aside, I would never intentionally harm the animal. Beside the fact that it just isn't in my nature, I know how much he means to my roommate.
Shortly before Christmas, Jox ran away. He ran away on a cold, rainy night and did not return even for the bowls of food placed out for him. Brian was beside himself. It was as if he had lost his son. Even Two moped around the house. Days turned into weeks with no sign of Jox. Hope was abandoned, and we began to adjust to being a one cat household. As much as I hated to admit it, I liked it. I didn't miss Jox at all, and part of me rejoiced at the fact that he was gone. On the other hand, I felt terribly guilty. I wasn't the one who let Jox out, but I felt like somehow I was responsible. How could I feel so joyful when Brian had lost his pet? I was an awful person, yes indeed.
At the end of January, as suddenly as he had disappeared, Jox was back. He had survived almost two months of winter on his own, and had turned up all the way across the city. Brian rejoiced, and we all adjusted again. Jox had gone a little bit feral. He hissed and growled at us and at Two. It took awhile to work him back into the swing of things. Gradually, it began to seem like he had never been gone. I stopped feeling guilty and went back to hating him again. I now had a new grievance to add to my list against him. Everytime a door was opened, he tried to run off again. Twice I had to chase him across the yard to catch him and bring him back. Once was while I was barefoot and the ground snow covered. Once was once slippery rocks during a snow storm. Each time I caught him I ranted to Brian about the fact that Jox still didn't have a collar, and that I wasn't going to run after him any more. This weekend Jox headed out the door and I got a scratch on my hand and a slightly stretched muscle in my back while grabbing him. At that point, while the steam poured forth from my ears, I really wished that Jox would just f*ck off and die.
Bad. Not good. As I write this, Jox is at the animal hospital. He is very sick, and Brian thinks he may not be coming back. Enter the guilt, round 2. The logical part of my mind realizes that my wishing that Jox would go away did not make him run off, nor did my wishing make him sick. The other part of my mind says that I am somehow responsible. Even if I am not responsible, I am a bad person for making those wishes. "Be careful what you wish for..." Wishing is not to be taken lightly. I'm learning. For Brian's sake I hope Jox gets better very soon.
