There's No Place Like Home

We are finally home from our two week vacation to England, and after trekking all over the UK and living out of suitcases and feeling like nomads, I am very happy to be home again.  I can tell you who else is happy for us to be home--our cats!!  Not that they weren't in good hands.   As is typical for their summer vacation from us, they got a visitor to stay with them to dote on their every need and get acquainted with their perpetual desire for FOOD, sleep, FOOD, play, FOOD, and a place to puke or leave an "impression."  When I was away, my first week was like cat detox.  I didn't miss them too badly.  I wondered how they were adapting, but, for the most part, not having to wake up to the wailing call of a mighty feline who hasn't eaten in 8 hours (GASP!) was quite refreshing.  It was also kind of nice not to have to run tape over my pants because they didn't have fur stuck to them from the cat's decision to walk all over them when I laid them out in the morning.  Or having to check litter boxes three times per day.  Or have a cat digging its dagger paws into my lap when I just wanted to sit quietly. 

But somewhere around the week two mark, cats became like exotic animals to me.  Both my daughter and I would see a stray cat in a garden or someone's private yard and we would fuss as if it were one of the historic sites we paid to see.  Naturally, these foreign felines would look at us skeptically, knowing we were American, and then dashed off in a British manner.  Not to say they weren't friendly.  They just thought we were odd.  I could tell.  British cats are very proper.  And they all wore top hats. And drove Mini-Coopers.

So when we would collapse at night on our beds in our hotels, I genuinely longed for my absent cats. You get used to those little shadows darting around your legs, especially when you come down the stairs first thing in the morning.  It's amazing they haven't killed me yet with the game of "Let's Trip Mommy!" Why they see dashing between my legs scissoring up or down stairs as a challenge or competition something frisky and fun, I'm not sure.  But one day they might just be chewing on my fingers as I lay at the bottom...little tricksters!!  What a great game!


And I missed the conjured slow blink of love that I get as a result of their ancestry as witches "familiars."  You know when a cat is contentedly laying where it probably shouldn't and you approach to scold and they turn to you and give you the slit-eyes and stare--penetrating your soul and glamouring you like a vampire.  "You will let me lay here...I love you...You love me...This is MY spot.  This is NOT forbidden..."  Try THAT next time you're at work and need some time off...not so easy to pull off, is it? More than likely you will end up with a new nickname or a lawsuit.

Ahh, to be loved by a cat is to be accepted for who you are.  They don't notice your bedhead in the morning.  They don't comment on your weight gain after a holiday or tell you that chocolate is going to give you a headache.  They don't judge you for how many naps you take despite your list of things that needs to get done when you see them stretched out...it's just so inviting to lay there beside them, stroking their fur and having a staring contest.  I wouldn't mind a little more privacy in the bathroom, but it's a small price to pay for having that little spirit nearby always massaging your ankles and bonking you with its head as if to say, "You're my person.  Welcome home."