Personal Essays

I Think He Likes Me

Quint lives up to his name every day. God help the wayward fly that gets past the screen door. Quint is on the job. He’s a mighty fly catcher. He also getting to be a darn good jumper and a house-class sprinter. The sprinting comes when he thinks he has to be everywhere in the house at the same time. He dashes from room to room, sliding around the corners on the hardwood floors, making sure that he is not missing anything that might be going on. Of course, being a cat, curiosity sometimes distracts him momentarily and he’ll make a detour to explore a corner he hasn’t been to in the last few minutes, but then he’ll resume his self-appointed rounds until he’s sure that there is nothing going on that he doesn’t know about. That accomplished, he crawls back behind the couch to a special cool dark place under the bench I made that would allow him to sit in the living room window and bask in the sun, if he ever wanted to do that, which he doesn’t, yet. He spends a good bit of the afternoon under there, safe and content that all is right in his world.

I like living in Quint’s world. He makes living in my world better, a lot better. He entertains me and I try to do the same for him. I’m pretty sure he likes me. I know he likes Carol. When Carol and I are sitting in the same room, Quint will move back and forth between laps making sure that he gets all the attention and affection that he deserves and purring it back in abundance. He’s filled the empty space in our home and in our hearts. I hadn’t realized how big and empty that space was until he came along. But now it’s filled to overflowing with life and love and purrs and meows, just as it ought to be. Welcome to your home, Quint.
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