Our Last Home

We had to move a couple of more times, but this last place was our own. So, I finally got my wish with her. It is the last place I remember living at. This was also the place in which Isis came to live with us. My girl was working a regular job outside of our home again too.

I was glad when we could stay in the same place for years. This was a comfort after all the moving around we did. I just hope my girl doesn’t have to keep moving when she doesn’t like it so well. Having a safe and stable home is a wonderful thing to have. It’s the place you go to when you need to hide from the world.

That’s how I feel about it. I still believe that home is a place you can come back to time and time again. Adventures can be good from time to time, but a safe place to hide and be loved is a must in this crazy world. Home is not just for cats, but also everyone who needs one. So I can’t complain when this was the last place we lived in together.

It was safe. It was stable. It was home. It had a great view. I could keep an eye out on humans who came and went on the street and the sidewalk. I could look down on them. I know Spot loved the view too. He watched lots of humans everyday. We watched my girl too.

It was clear that she was a crazy cat lady who couldn’t say no to us because we are cats. It’s as simple as that. I wasn’t alone at this time of my life. I was a senior cat and I could enjoy my naps and meditation. My girl gave me all the love and attention I needed whenever I asked for it.

I could not ask for more from the home she gave us. By this time I had become a quiet cat. I was so quiet that my girl’s mother couldn’t believe it. She just didn’t understand. She thought I was still a loud whiny cat. Well, my girl understood me so well that I didn’t have to ask her for much of anything.

I could enjoy my senior years without worry. I was content and relaxed. I was surrounded by my family in our last home we shared together. We were happy. All of us. I was aging and my girl could see some signs of it. She would look at my coat and see some white hairs speckled throughout my black hair. She’d ask me if I was getting old on her. I just looked at her and said nothing. I’d close my eyes and go to sleep seeing her smile at me.

I knew she was just teasing. She was making an observation. She does the same thing to herself and it doesn’t bother her to see fine lines forming around her eyes. If she stares at her silvery hairs streaked in her French black hair for too long, she laughs. She now wears lined bifocals. She’s not ashamed. She knows she is getting older. I doubt she will care as long as she doesn’t get sick.

But when we age and get sick on top of it, it’s no fun, as I will discuss in the last chapter. So, I hope my girl continues to enjoy good health that gets better not worse.