I'm back at my kitchen table this morning. How wonderful and comforting to find it just the way I left it, tucked into the corner, covered with the usual family trappings; mail, charging cords, fruit baskets and car keys, with just enough space reserved for my laptop and a steaming cup of coffee. It won't be long before the cat slinks out of whatever corner he's slumbered in for the night and claims what little tabletop remains, stretching his tiny body to an imposing size and re-homing items to the floor as necessary. He forever adores our time together in the morning, I forever adore his innate sense of entitlement.
It's good to be home.
He sighs it out and touches the back of my hand with an outstretched paw. "This is nice." his touch says "To be back in our quiet, our contemplation our thinking."
"Yes." I say "But where we have be, that has been magical. So much so in fact that I forgot about these comforts, this chair, these hours, the wondrous aroma of coffee, your company. Perhaps I have even forgotten about words and how not to plan them. Can that happen to a person? Can you set out upon a journey to discovery something about yourself and change who you are seeking to find?"
A back leg juts out and knocks my mug. "Drink your coffee, and stop talking so stupid. Journeys change us. What would be the point of taking one to return home the same person who left, to never grow or expand or change our vantage? The change is the point."
"Purpose was my point."
"One reveals the other and you are too fearful of each for it to matter. The sun is up now and I have plans to bask on the hardwood. Pick your keys up off the floor."
There is a discernible swagger in the ass end of a cat who has had enough of your company.
It's good to be home.
