Two years ago this week, you went on an unexpected outdoor adventure. Racing down city streets, careening along window sills, bouncing off balconies.
You hid out for four days, undoubtedly terrified, waiting.
Then one morning, you plucked up every ounce of your feline courage and found your way back home at five o’clock in the morning. You walked through the door I’d left open and into the kitchen and scarfed down as much food as you possibly could. You looked up at me when I saw you, seeming almost puzzled as I burst into sobs.
Since then, you’ve curled up with me at night while I slept with my elbow tightly around you. You’ve tucked yourself under my arm while I typed on my laptop with the other. You’ve dozed soundly on your bed while I worked a foot away on my desk.
You diligently caught mice in my old apartment and have enjoyed bird- and squirrel-watching vantage points at my new condo.
You don’t meow excessively and you haven’t broken or scratched things, only adding some wear and tear to the couch… a small price to pay for your constant companionship throughout the pandemic.
Sophie, you are a kitty like no other. I ❤️ you.