And This House Just Ain’t No Home

Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
It’s not warm when she’s away
Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone
And she’s always gone too long
Anytime she’s goes away

Bill Withers

If you’re a regular reader, you are aware that my eldest furry resident has been angling to keep me away from all thoughts and actions in any way wanderlusty. Meanwhile, my younger cat has a slightly different — and yet remarkably effective — two-pronged strategy for preventing me from packing my bags.

Prong One: she wanders around the house, caterwauling her little heart out. No matter what we offer her, she is not interested. She simply wants to be left alone, to sing about her troubles. Loudly.

Prong Two: once done with her crooning, she makes her way to my bedroom, where I have started laying out outfits for the forthcoming trip — and commandeers my clothes. You would think this to be a silly, harmless pout maneuver, easily tackled by lifting the 9 pounds of silky feline off the bed and going about my business. You’d be wrong. She digs in with her fingernails, and dons that look of warning — the look that says, don’t make any sudden moves, or the fragile threads of your favorite sweater’s gonna sleep with the fishes.

It’s a struggle.

Shot on Pixel 6 Pro, black and white filter.