my cat and I

my cat is nearly twenty years old. she knows me better than most of my loved ones, having aged in the same rooms and blankets that have become our home. she visits me most nights before I sleep, jumping onto my chest, where she sits for a while, purring softly. later, when I’ve switched off my lamp to sleep I’ll hear the sounds of her snoring on the mattress beneath my bed. she sleeps soundly, and there’s some comfort I take from her being so close as I wish away another day.

in a few weeks I’ll be alone at home with my parents. both of my brothers are leaving, and since I’m unsure of where I’m going next, I’ll stay where I’ve been for the past year now. I worry about the loneliness I’ll surely face upon saying goodbye. though I’ve grown through similar feelings before, at the moment I find myself doubting my ability to adapt positively to changes I encounter. I’m aware I have no choice but to take these changes as chances to grow, though I’ll need to find ways to believe in myself to make this all work out.

my brothers are leaving, but luckily I’ll still have our cat. tonight as I was folding my crane I saw her wipe a tear from one of her eyes. it was strange to see her looking so sad, though I’ve often worried about her routine of excessive sleeping. she’s shied away now under my bed, and I’ll hear her snoring soon. I hope she’s okay. I don’t know what I’d do without her.