I had to stuff a screaming Iris into her carrier and driver her howling to her new home on Piedmont Ave. Our hearts were breaking, I was driving through tears, trying to assure her it would be OK. When she wasn't howling, she was sitting stock still with her mouth oddly wide open, in an expression of horror and disbelief. I thought about turning around. I thought about all those stories of surrogate mothers not letting go of their babies.

I parked behind Fenton's, and we go out, still crying. I realized that I had parked in the exact spot where Ari and I broke up, obvious because at the dead end of the street there's a giant yellow sign that says END. I don't know the name of the street. I think Ari's house is technically on it. Maybe it should be called "This is Killing Me But I Have To Do It Street".

I was somewhat soothed to see that Kelsey's apartment is big and cat-friendly. But when I let Iris out of her box, she slunk away, very slowly and low to the ground as if creeping through grass. We found her eyes shining way in the back corner under Kelsey's bed. She wouldn't make a sound. She wouldn't come to my cooing.

I left hoping I hadn't irreparably damaged her heart. If not, I know she will be much happier with a pair of loving owners and a sunny balcony from which she can see the chickens that used to wake me up next to Ari.