Dexter Watching the Sunset

These have been some very cold days, and on this day, I never left the house. Monday is the day I often work at home, and so I didn't need to get showered and dressed up and drive (or catch the bus) into town.

I set up my work area in the master bedroom - a little computer table by the window, a chair, some blankets. And there I was shortly joined by Dexter the Tabby, who is very good company indeed. He always insists on trying to sit on the chair that I myself am sitting on, so my custom is to set up TWO chairs. I sit on one, then when he sits on it with me, I cover him with a blanket, and I swap chairs.

Dexter loves being covered up with a blanket. In fact, he insists on it. He will sit on a chair and make covering motions with his pristine white paws toward the blanket, clearly trying to communicate that he wants the blanket pulled over top of him for his nap. And then he sleeps, sometimes making little dreaming sounds and snores. It's cozy. And silly. And charming.

And my husband is in the background, off doing things around the house. Making our meals. Shoveling the snow. Bringing in the mail. Offering me another coffee: Honey, do you want your second cup now? Yes, my love. He puts extra chocolate in it as a treat: mocha java. And I sit snug, holding the hot steaming cup in my hands, as I catch up on e-mails, work on spreadsheets, set meetings. Feeling glad for once to just be able to stay inside.

And then the work day is over. And I make the lengthy commute home from work - carrying my computer from the bedroom out to the table, where it usually sits. And it's time for dinner, and dishes, and then the evening routines and entertainments.

The Tabby likes a little adventure after his supper, so sometimes we sit on the front porch for a few minutes to get some fresh air. Most of the time, though, after his supper, he meows at the downstairs door to the attached garage, and I carry him into the garage, where we sit in the back seat of my car together. You may ask how we started this habit, and I really don't know. It began when it began. And when he meows at the garage door, this is what he wants.

He walks around, purring; checks for leaves on the mats (which he crunches up promptly and quite happily if he finds them); looks for mints in rattly cellophane (which he loves to chew on), as well as forbidden items such as Q-tips (which he may only play with briefly, and under strict adult supervision).

And then he is ready to settle in for the evening. His current favorite evening curl-up spot is on the couch beside my husband, under a blanket, of course. The cat who wants "up" is a force to be reckoned with. There is no denying him what he wants. You can try putting him down, but he's a boomerang Tabby, back up in seconds!

On this evening, though, he had a lovely fancy feast of a supper and a little jaunt out to my car; and before he headed for his favorite couch blankie spot, he sat preening and bathing by the deck door windows, framed against the golden light of the setting sun. I saw him there and grabbed my camera to get a few shots. The light was nice, and it was cozy, and the house was full of warmth and good smells, with the evening's entertainments ahead of us.

My smile came from deep down in my heart, and I thought:

I am comfy,
I am happy,
I am blessed,
I am well loved,
I am home . . .

The song: Linda Ronstadt (with backing vocals by Emmylou Harris), Feels Like Home.