Over the years, I had become accustomed to living alone, had grown to appreciate independence, freedom, solitude even. It’s an easier life, not having to care about anyone, let alone for anyone, not having to worry about the expectations of others and, quite frankly, often not even about my own.
“Selfish” is how people called me for my choice. “Happy” is how I would have described it.
But then, something changed.
Now, I sometimes cut my walks short because can’t wait to get home, where I know, or hope, that she will be waiting for me. On the way, I pop into a store, getting a surprise for her.
When she is happy, I am happy.
All those who once called me selfish would be surprised by how readily I share my time, my thoughts, my food and even the bed.
It’s nice to live with a cat.