Home Is Where The Cat Is
I opened the door and there she was:
Her ears perked up, eyes open wide, posture that shows she was once an Egyptian goddess. She let out a little Meow and I melted instantly.
I reached over and lifted her in my arms, kissing her fur until my lips turned into Chewbacca. She purred like she hadn't seen me in a month, because she hadn't seen me in a month, and she looked into my eyes for a long minute, as if she was saying "I missed you, mommy." Guilt took over me as if I was an actual mom and my eyes said "I'm sorry" to her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Cat people are strange. I thought to myself, and felt proud to be among them strange ones. "Cat people are strange and I fucking love them. To hell with the haters, the ones who don't get cats, the ones that are afraid of cats, to hell with them all!" I said all this to my cat without saying a single word. And I swear - she understood it all. Just like the Egyptian goddess that she once was. She understood and purred away like she was a loud fan in the seventies. Like she was a propeller of a Cessna plane. Like she was eager to say "I love you too."
And there I was. Home. Home at last. Home with my cat.
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In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman