Mishka the cat is curled up against the right side of the laptop, giving herself a bath.
She is not shy: I was still asleep when she became hungry quite early this morning. She leaped lightly up to the bed, climbed onto my belly and meowed: a very unique reveille.
As I got up and dressed, she went down and waited by her bowl for breakfast, with patient determination .
I gather that the people from whom I received her were not her first home: she had already been elsewhere before she landed there. I wonder how she tells herself the story of her life, and where she is now. She must wonder how she can make me understand what makes her contented.
She likes high places: I often see her settled atop the high back of Zalman's recliner. She prefers my desk, curled up next to my right arm, to any of the chairs or the hassock.
She also likes basking in the morning patch of sun through the glass sliding doors.
It has been a catching-up day, with the soft and constant background music of missing Zalman's presence.
Meow, and good night.