On Friday I rode the train into London with Angus. Unusually, I had a late Friday appointment with my therapist, and then Angus and I had dinner and movie plans afterwards in the Big Smoke. We parted at Waterloo and I walked the winding hallways to the Jubilee Line. The halls and escalator smelled like granite, and I imagined putting my tongue to the groove for one moment, just to see what it tasted like.

The tube ride was long but easy, made easier by a Nintendo DS and an iPod. I'm a child of my generation, an early adopter, someone that likes the ability to be entertained and not have to be alone with whatever is inside my head. When I get to the neighborhood I walk along the darkening streets, underneath street lights that were just beginning to partake of an amber glow. One of the houses I pass has "2006" painted backwards on the inside of every window. Sometimes I think I need a reminder of what year I am in as well.

My therapy visit is easy and meaningful. There in the loft office I sit on the couch and continue to discuss some of the same subjects that I have picked up on during the last few weeks. His quiet countenance is soothing, something that I pick up on in my heart and let it circle around the lap a few times, a balm to a still relatively broken soul.

"Do you know what it's like to regret something so much that you just can't let yourself regret it, or else it will eat you up forever and ever?" I ask him.

"I do indeed," he says softly, and I know he's not lying to me, not trying some hippy Freudian mumbo-jumbo to try to relate. I know he has experienced how that feels. We talk further about family, the definition of family, how sometimes people you love become part of your family more than blood-relations do, and how I am working on it all inside the messy broth that is my head.

When I leave I walk through the silent and dark streets, of people coming home from work, of the smell of food wafting out of partially parked kitchen windows. I catch the tube back to Angus, changing at a throbbing London Bridge station full of people that long ago forgot what year they were in, and long ago forgot how to regret.

We have a nice meal at a nice restaurant. I indulge in eggs Fiorentine as my veggie diet has me craving protein. I buy an egg poacher to have more eggs at home. We have a bottle of wine and laugh, and I butter bread pieces for him to eat.

The movie theatre was next door, and so we get a glass of wine and tiptoe in when, woe to my wondering eyes should behold, but I see we have couches. Reclining couches! We get to enjoy the aroma of Memoirs of a Geisha while sitting on a couch together and drinking wine.

It's like a little slice of heaven.

And, of course, when the lights went out we quietly played with each other beneath our coats.

We missed the ending in order to catch our train (but having read the book, I knew what happened) and rode the train home, giggling and kissing as we waited, then reading our newspapers on the train as we sat across from 4 men in tuxedos, winding down for the evening.

Sunday we went to lunch with his family, a huge Sunday roast at a pub in his hometown. We laughed and talked and presented his mother with her 70th birthday present, a long weekend in Scotland. Angus' nieces beg to sit on my lap and go through my purse, and who am I to say no to them? They decorated themselves with my clear lip gloss, and they kept shuffling around in their little girl party dresses and sparkly plastic jewelry.

After the lunch Angus and I sneak off to the RSPCA in Godstone to say hello to the doggies. We are keeping an open mind and working hard to ensure we get the right dog, although I confess I check in with Dog's Trust often to see that Reggie is still there (he is). As we walked around I am happy to report that two-thirds of the dogs had already been adopted and were waiting to go to their new homes. As they looked out of their metal and concrete prisons with big eyes, I wished them luck and touched their noses through the bars.

The cats, sadly, were another matter.

As we toured through the cat section it was clear a lot of the beautiful babies would likely never find homes. Fully-grown, mature houscats with big green eyes, trembling in their little beds (the accommodation in the cat house was, actually, very good for the little ones). Some of the reasons that the cats had been abandoned saddened me-Owners passed away, owner went to prison, owner moved abroad and can't take cats. Some of them infuriated me-Owner says cat requires too much attention.

If I could find out who abandoned their cat for that reason I would hunt them down and beat them senseless.

A trio of cats looked lovingly out the window at me and my heart broke a thousand times for them. One rubbed its head against the glass, and both of us pretended that my finger on the clear surface was really on its ear. I know that I can't take home any more cats, I already have two and Jeff is allergic to cats anyway, I just wish I could find them someone who would love them as much as I love my girls.

Walking with Angus, I held his arm tightly as we looked at cats grouped together. "The cats that are in cages with other cats...they all come from the same homes. The owners just gave them all up." I shuddered and nearly cried, thinking about my girls. "Oh God, what if it were Maggie and Mumin? What would happen if something happened to us, who would take our girls? Who would know that Mumin likes to sleep under the covers and Maggie likes to drink out of the bathtub faucet?"

Something we'll have to think about, I guess. Just like parents need to know there is someone to take care of their children should anything happen, so too do I need to think about it as their mommy.

We head home, both heartened that most of the dogs have been re-homed and distressed about the cats. When we get home, Angus sees Maggie and Mumin, waiting eagerly for us on the couch. He scratches Maggie's ear. "We've been looking at your replacements," he teases. "You two don't do enough to earn your keep. You're useless," he says softly to her as she rolls over to allow him greater access to her soft stomach. He absolutely doesn't mean it, and anyway she doesn't believe it for a second. Her purr lights up the room and he smiles and I love my tiny family so much I could die. As Mumin follows me into the kitchen, I can't help but crush her to me and think that if it was ever my two girls in a pound like that, I would crumble.

Just an ordinary weekend.

An ordinary weekend with my nuclear family, the family that I love.

I made a note of it, to tell my therapist when I see him today.

-H.

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