More Soul Searching

Note: This is another piece of the introduction to a novel I started, and quickly abandoned, titled Soul Searching.  It was supposed to be a memoir told in noir style that dealt with a person finding himself, "soul searching" if you will, while literally searching for souls.  Living with a novelist as I do now, I can see that the main cause of my derailment was not going in with a general outline in mind.  I was also afraid to let anyone read it, but I am trying to overcome that fear--that's where you come in.  So, in all of it's rough draft glory, here is more Soul Searching:

            Sleep is something of a privilege.  I would never expect those who experience it regularly to understand.  It is the kind of thing that comes to an individual who is satisfied with his day, week, life.  They say “no rest for the wicked.”  If only it were that simple.  I’ve been awake for a week now (something that is not uncommon in my life).  I have been truly awake for eight years.  Unfortunately, both interpretations have left me sleep deprived for far too long.

            I’m in the backyard of my brother’s house in Maryland digging a hole.  His cat died and I am going to give her some assistance.  I’ve found the souls of cats have a difficult time finding their way out—a real shame considering how intelligent those same souls are in life.  Naturally, I don’t have time to do this with every cat.  I wish I did because cats are old souls and it is a damn shame to see such spirits hit a dead end.  Of course there are worse bodies to have inhabited last.

            At any rate, Pippi was a true friend, and the earth would be well served by her walking it in some capacity.  Most times, cats opt to return as cats, but we might get lucky.  The historical influence of human souls that had once been cat souls is profound, but I am not an historian.  The importance of my job can not be read about in textbooks.

            But freeing Pippi’s soul is a matter of personal interest.  A favor for my brother who, though he will not know about it in this lifetime, deserves it.  He’s lucky he is my brother, too because digging this whole is a bitch.  The soil in his yard is the type of rocky shit that reminds me why I get paid for what I do.  That’s alright though, this gives me some time to sober up from the night’s activities and really give some consideration to the offer she approached me with.

            Why can’t I remember her name?