I sit in my living room reading and hear purring. I look around but no cat.
My cat likes places where he can be close but unnoticed. With this in mind, I look for the source.
Perhaps he’s under the ottoman. A spot to be unseen and in the middle of things. I bend down and look. Only the torn lining, evidence of his former presence, hangs down. No cat.
The purring continues, I accept his Cheshire cat-like magic and go back to reading. Wherever he is, he’s content. Something he hasn’t been for days. My around-the-clock presence has disrupted his routine and made him irritable.
I look out the window, and the darkness prompts me to check the time. Surprised by the hour, I close my book. Stand. Stretch. And then, I notice him, curled up, needing the blanket that has fallen behind the chair.
I turn off the light.