I Caged Myself

It’s well known that our forbears lived in caves. This is fully-documented by The Flintstones. Caves are safe places that keep out the saber tooth tigers and other dangers.

God knows it’s a crazy dangerous world out there today. I know that I don’t feel safe. Seemed to me, I needed to do something about it.

There aren’t many caves here in Brooklyn. And my man-cave was metaphorically satisfying but didn’t quite do the job. Even with all those high tech locks and computerized monitors on my apartment doors and windows, I felt vulnerable.

They keep puppies in cages nowadays and when they grow up they continue to spend time in the cages. It makes them feel secure. That’s where I took my inspiration.

I found the thing at Home Depot. I haven’t a clue what it’s for, but it was exactly what I wanted: not a man cave but a man cage. The latticed metal lets in light and air but keeps out humans and other pests. I’ve got a large comfy pillow, a reading light and a Kindle full of eBooks. When needed, I briefly open the cage door to grab a Kind bar and one of the cans of RC Cola stored nearby.

So, I’m doing this for something like six months (I found keeping track of time to be difficult), and then it just stops working. Yes, I can open the door at will, but it I feel restricted. Like I’m caged, which I am.

So today I’m packed, lightly, with mostly camping gear. I’m heading out to a rural area—any rural area. Aren’t they all the same?

The cage is history. I’m going free range.