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Yesterday was my final day working with Briana at the Logan Heights branch of the San Diego Public Library. There was some sadness, giving her a hug goodbye, wishing her the best, offering to be a reference, encouraging her to take good care of herself and her medical realities. She’s a lovely person, and there’s rivers to cross.

I said my goodbyes, and thank you’s for allowing me to be part of this, to the head librarian, and to my favorite librarian Eddie, and the few others on shift in the quiet summer months. I also said my goodbye – before my shift and on the way back to my car, to the feral cat Bobbie. Whose picture you see, which I snapped on the way in. On the way out Bobbie was laying on the concrete at the edge of his foster mom’s driveway, where her car had been before she left for work. I called his name and said goodbye, and after a moment he looked up at me. When that happened I felt a sadness deeper than the others.

I don’t know what that says about me. I had the same one-year relationship with Bobbie as I did with everyone previously mentioned. And I’m clear Bobbie’s never had much time for me, me with all my calls and encouragements (“Pretty kitty”) all these months. Bobbie almost always blase’ – “Oh, it’s him again.” That never mattered. It made me smile. Something about this cat got a hold on me.

Retired, I won’t have to get in the car and drive over to Logan Heights three days a week. I won’t have to bend my aching back all the way over 10,000 times, shelving a book, picking a book, there again. I won’t have to fill out timesheets and drive up the 15 to the main office to write progress notes. And there won’t be Bobbie.

I know, it’s not like it’s driving 100 miles to LA. It’s only about five miles to the library, and the house catty corner across the street. I can get in the car. Yeah, I can always get in the car. But still, it’s a loss.