Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I have a new, temporary job: Cat Sitter. A neighbor sent out a plea for someone to take care of her cats while her husband and she left town for four days.  I don’t know what possessed me, except that I really like cats while not wanting one of my own at this age.  So I applied for the job.

I have credentials.  My two sons love cats, and we had Patches and Harold when they were growing up.  Today each of them has three cats: Lucy, Vern, and Charlie (This cat has “papers”.) live in upstate New York; Gracie, Hero, and Woody live in Fargo, ND. Let it be noted that I have no biological grandchildren, so perhaps these are my substitutes.

I’m cat sitting Winker and Bubbles, both older felines which makes them more docile.  (You would never think of Woody, for instance, as docile.) They are sweet and companionable and let me pet them. Perhaps they’ve caught on that I’m their food and water source, which is why they like me. Even if that’s my main attraction, I’ll take it for four days.