Day In.

06:18 am

She woke up slowly, comfortably wrapped in her quilt, as the early morning sun weakly peeked through the blinds. The space heater swiveled just enough in her direction to reach the skin on the back of her neck. His side of the bed was still slightly warm, the covers bunched up, and his pillow askew.

She turned to face the window, eyes still closed. A warm furry lump was at her feet, and with her movement, it made an inquisitive “brrrrow?” noise and headed toward the pillows. As the cat reached her chest, she lifted the edge of the quilt and invited him to curl up in the space between her and the edge of the bed. She lowered the blanket, curled around him, and enjoyed the warm rumbling of his purrs lulling them both back to sleep.

08:04 am

When she woke again, the heater had turned itself off, and the cat had moved to the empty side of the bed, sprawled out. He was laying on his back with his front paws pinned up close to his chin, his back feet spread apart and curled at the toes. As she scrunched the soft speckled fur on his belly, his sister's ears popped over the edge of the mattress, soon to join them. His eyes opened wide, and he flopped over onto his side as his calico sister delicately pounced his tail and then sauntered away to the end of the bed. He looked at his human as she mumbled something through her smile and started to rub her eyes.

She sat up and looked at the window, now brightly lit up by the still rising sun. She was glad she'd taken the day off; she could tell that the chilly weather outside would have meant too many layers of stuffy office clothes for her liking. Today would be much better spent in sweatpants, a long-sleeved tee, and fuzzy socks.

Maybe she'd stay in bed all day listening to her audiobook, or maybe she'd binge-watch true crime shows on the couch. She wasn't sure what she'd do quite yet, but she did know that this was the first time in a long time she'd felt relaxed.

10:58 am

She used to get bored on days like this, but now, there was something to be said about not having any obligations. No phones ringing all day, no unnecessary conversations about her coworker's obsession with how the root touch-up they'd done last night looked. No people, other than the ones she welcomed into her home. So far that had included some Frank Sinatra, a bit of Jack Johnson, and just a smidge of Ray LaMontagne; she was expecting Otis Redding any minute.

She'd lit some candles to make the house feel cozy, and had made the bed, opening the bedroom windows a bit to let a cool breeze sweep through the upper floor of the townhouse. The calico was taking full advantage of the fresh air while the grey tabby was sticking to his self-appointed Human Shadow duties very seriously, as always. He followed closely as she lazily picked up another load of laundry, and began carrying it down the two flights of stairs to the laundry room. Fresh blankets were about to come out of the dryer, and he couldn't let them be hairless for more than five minutes; the job assignment he'd created for himself would never allow such lackadaisical work ethic.

01:14 pm

Now that the movie was done, and her wine glass was empty, she supposed it was time for lunch. Nothing quite worked up an appetite like watching Keanu Reeves portray a demon-hunting exorcist, and that little bowl of grapes from this morning was just not cutting it anymore.

She scrounged through the pantry before settling on a childhood tried & true: canned chicken, Miracle Whip, dill relish, onion powder, and garlic powder— the perfect chicken salad. Pair that with some Ritz crackers and a couple of worthy sides (say, maybe a baby cheese wheel and a mandarin orange), and she'd have the perfect afternoon meal. After mixing all of her ingredients, she quickly rinsed off her utensils, put the cans in the recycling, and put the ingredients back in the pantry before sitting down at the table.

Of course, she wasn't alone during this. Oh no, as soon as the can of chicken opened up, those four-legged mongrels swarmed like vultures, convinced every canned good in the house was theirs, and only theirs. What do you mean that other things come in cans? Doesn’t everything in this house belong to us, human? Au contraire, mon frère. Everything here, including you, my friends, belongs to her; today belongs to her.

02:31 pm

She stepped out of the shower, scrunching as much water as she could from her hair into the towel before clipping it up and off of her neck. The steam coated the mirror and window, and dripped down the walls as she patted her face dry and slipped into her terry cloth robe and slippers, fresh from the towel warmer. She didn't have many luxuries in life, but occasionally she stumbled across something on clearance and decided to splurge; the towel warmer was one of those things, and my god, was it ever worth it. 

On these perfect autumnal days, where the temps dipped just below the tee shirt point? That was when it got its annual debut, and today was no exception. The leaves had just begun to change to firey hues, and it had her skin craving the embrace of soft flannel jackets and plaid sherpa blankets in the back yard; a toasty warm towel would have to suffice in the meantime.

04:57 pm

She curled up on the couch with a fresh blanket straight from the dryer, the grey tabby burrowed against her ribs like he’d earned the spot. The calico batted at the tassels while she thumbed open the worn paperback she’d pulled from the shelf—Clive Barker’s Abarat. It wasn’t the kind of book you could dip in and out of lightly, but that was half the fun. The shadows lengthened across the floor as she lost herself in his tangled world, her own growing smaller, quieter, and perfectly contained within four walls.

07:22 pm

Eventually her stomach pulled her back to earth. She scrolled through the food delivery app until she spotted the comfort she didn’t even know she was craving: tortellini, drowning in sauce and buried under a snowfall of parmesan. By the time the knock came at the door, the cats were already stationed like sentinels, sure that whatever was inside the paper bag must be theirs. She shooed them back and claimed her prize, steam curling up from the container— soft pasta filled with warmth and nostalgia.

09:48 pm

By the time the sun dipped fully away, he was back home to fill his side of the bed, and the townhouse smelled faintly of orange peel and candle wax. The cats had settled into their evening posts—calico sprawled in the window, tabby weighing heavily on her hip as she traced the rim of her wine glass. The day had slipped through her fingers softly, without demand or resistance, and for the first time in a long time, she felt wholly rested.

She thought, Maybe everything in this house does belong to them. I certainly do. But as the night folded in, she smiled, knowing one thing for certain—today had belonged to her.

the aforementioned mongrels