As always, the cats were glad to see him. Such beautiful cats! Grey tabbys, fat and shiny, their eyes darting frantically between him and the kitchen counter. He carefully placed the mail (only some handbills) on the dining room table, then checked the apartment like he always did: windows, balcony door, humidifier, litter box, bathroom. In the bedroom, he opened a window to let in some air. The cats followed him everywhere, yowling and clowning like fools to get his attention.
In the kitchen he saw the can of cat food on the counter; it was the last one, and he remembered sadly there would be no more appointments here. Tears blurred his eyes. "Bloody old fool!" he growled as he spooned out the food: half to the red dish and half to the blue. Such beautiful cats!
He put on his coat and took a last look around. Window! Idiot! Forgot to close the window! Fine thing to forget something like that, especially if it rains. He returned to the bedroom. The cats, eyeing each other's bowls, ignored him.
He closed the window and locked it, then surveyed the room again. Such a beautiful bed. And that patchwork quilt; as old as Mama's, the one she put her name on when she finally got it finished. Took her years to make, she said, but even with six babies, one after the other, and with cooking and scrubbing and tending the geese and chickens, there was still time for a bit of quilting on a Sunday evening after the others were in bed. Covered it all over with farm animals, one for each kind on our farm.
"But Mama, there's a billy goat. We don't have goats."
"No, but years ago we had dozens. And in the spring the place would be hopping with the little ones. You should have seen them jump! They jumped for the sheer joy of being alive."
"Why don't we have goats now, Mama?"
"Papa said we should have cows. After all, cows give a lot more milk."
"And the rooster, Mama, why is he so big? He's even bigger than the billy goat."
"Such questions! How are you feeling now? Why, you're shivering! Are you still cold? It's warm in here and you're shaking like a leaf. To bed with you, this instant!"
"But Mama
. . . ""Hush! Off you go. That's my boy."
He climbed into bed and snuggled deeply into the
warm flannel sheets. There was something he had to
remember. He shut his eyes tightly against the
sunlight, and listened to the tick-thunk of the
grandfather clock in the hallway. What was it he had
to remember? Something about cats
He sighed a long, happy sigh. He wanted it always to be like this: safe in his warm bed, waiting for Papa to tell him when it's time to feed the cats.
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