(This is part of the Slice of Life project at Two Writing Teachers)
Some mornings, our cat (Coltrane) drives me crazy. Like this morning. At 3:30 a.m., I hear him prowling around the hallways and he starts to meow, just low enough to drive a sound stake into my head. I try to quietly call him back to the bed. He ignores me and starts to cry again. Then he goes silent. I start to drift, only to be awakened again by him. Dagnabit!
I finally muster up the energy to get up and put him outside, only to have him run and hide under the table. Does he want to go out or not? I grab a new can of cat food. That piques his interest. I open up the lid. Now, he is halfway out of his hiding place. I do a quick fake move towards the counter, feint to the left and then reach down and pluck the old fellow up. He is now about 15 years old, but still pretty spry. I cradle him in one hand and the can of food in the other.
He is purring. I am tired. I toss him outside and put a bit of food out there for him. The purring gets louder. It’s hard to stay too made at a purring cat, I guess. I reach down and pet him, and then go back inside, way too early for the start of the day.
Next up, the dog …
Peace (in the moment),