My Spirit Human

You’ve heard of writer’s block? I had a severe case of the feline equivalent – blogger’s paw – while my people were on their California trek. I did not feel the urge to share my thoughts, and I couldn’t reach the keyboard on my own.

My humans returned in the frigid darkness a week ago. Mother looked like a – how should I put this? – hobo! Despite knowing she was coming back to snow, she wore suede loafers with no socks, black leggings, and a flowing black and grey overshirt. The shirt hung out below father’s green windbreaker that she conceded to wearing when he reminded her of the cold. It appears she was under the delusion that she could bring California’s climate with her. Silly woman.

And while I appreciate her opposable thumbs, it’s this guy whose return I celebrated with many chirps of appreciation. My love. My adoptive Father. My spirit human.

The two weeks without him crawled along as slowly as a zombie without legs. Elyse, our house-sitter, performed the necessary duties to keep my world functioning, but my heart ached for the regular routine of love and attention from my favourite guy. Still, Elyse hung in there and stayed with me, feeding me and looking after my basic needs despite nothing in return from me. She’s a gem but it’s like the Meatloaf song: I want you, I need you, but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you…

My people are quite taken with California. They’ve been there before, of course, but this trip was longer and took them to more places they’ve only read about such as Santa Barbara, Monterey, and Carmel-by-the-Sea. They also truly appreciate being invited back to stay with their great friends Erin and Rob and their dog – DOG – Molly. I’ve met Erin and Rob on several occasions and enjoyed their company. Mother insists that Molly and I would become fast friends, that she is gentle and loving and wouldn’t dare harm me. But I’m skeptical and don’t wish to ever test the theory.

My life has fallen back into a happy routine. Since they’ve been back, I’ve slept between them like in the old days, unafraid of sudden roll-overs and random snoring. Mine, not theirs. The humans can dream of California while I am merely happy to be warm inside, anywhere they happen to be. Home is where my people are and this house is home once again.

Until next Tuesday,

Miss Sugar