The storms last night came in with a whimper by the time they reached Eastern Alabama. We didn't even get much rain. I was relieved for Ferret's sake. I walked down to the shopping center this morning to check on him. He was no worse for wear.
"My mother is buying me a tent," Ferret told me after I had sat awhile. "I talked to her today."
"Why don't you move in with your mother?" I asked.
"I'm not moving in with that alcoholic bitch," he replied.
Alcoholism tens to run in families and Ferret's is one of the best examples. According to Ferret, his grandmother was a severe alcoholic and so is his mother. I've met Ferret's mother once and she was drunk out of her gourd. I don't blame Ferret for not wanting to live with her as he has done in the past. She is a drunken drama queen. They end up in chaos and fighting all the time.
"What did you do last night?" I asked.
"I sat and listened to the radio as I drank beer," he replied.
"God, you must have been pretty drunk by last night."
"Yeah, I was," he replied. "I was still drunk this morning."
"You know, in a way, I envy you," I told him. "You are living life much like I did when I was homeless. I was free to drink and do what I wanted. The only thing that was harsh was the cold and trying to stay showered."
"George always said you were crazy," Ferret replied. "I think he was right."
I laughed and agreed. I am pretty crazy for thinking that, but I just can't help it. I will always harbor a certain fondness for my homeless days. I was actually relieved my family wouldn't have anything to do with me. Life was much simpler then.