Kind of ironic, I think. A pet, finds happiness in a plastic bag. She finds intrigue there. Simple, safe and happy. This cat is younger than the other cat. Baby is everywhere I go, she rests at the door until, I come in.
I am not sure of who the pet really is. She sleeps in the day, and treats the room as a kind of ‘Disney World’. I am sure has broken the sound barrier, as she glides across the room and making a lot of noise. My first inclination is to tell her, to behave. But when I ponder this, I am happy in her noise.
She is like a light house, esconsed on a hill, a guidepost of what lies ahead and unconditionally watches our for us. She has a responsibililty to her sub, a quiet recollection of harmony, and I like marmalade, adding flavor and robust reminders, through her play. At times, she uses her to paw, to get my attention. And she wants me to rest, while she nestles next to me. I felt her paw on my elbow, many times, reminding me, of what matters most in this world.
My other cat, already 15, is a bit more sedate in that regard, but man is she a sweetheart. I swear, she has two purr motors. She purrs and then she seems to add a purr and loves to cuddle in my arms. As she looks around, I mention her name (Lacey) and her heads move over to my head, as if hugging me. Really cute in that way. A real lover, happy in her affair. And this, after the redolent balm of friendship.
Two types 0f anchors, equally good, each with their own plastic bags, a place like a harbor, the boats and bags, coming in and out.