Coming home

When I return home after being on the road, Tootsie, Thalia, and Bosco are invariably waiting for me in the living room.

I do not delude myself into thinking they have been waiting for me since I left. Cats are not dogs. But they have an uncanny sense of knowing when the footsteps outside are mine.

Tootsie is usually perched on the cat condo and therefore is at the height of my face when I walk in. As the smallest, she meows loudest in greeting and demand to be stroked immediately.

Thalia has been scratching at the window to get into the entrance, meowing as she does. Once I step in, she winds herself around my feet in a forceful greeting. All thought of leaving the room is gone.

Bosco is sitting safely on the coffee table and waiting to see what I will do. He, too, is meowing in a squeaky voice as he usually chirps.

All of them express a degree of discontent at having been abandoned - by me. Theirs is not a joyful welcome but a reproachful admonishment.

Their dissatisfaction, having been given (persistent) voice, they resume their activities such as snoozing, playing or watching.

I am home again. Life is back in order and can go on.