Lying in one of the extra bedrooms in GrandMichs house at night feels weird. In a way I feel totally out of place. This is not my house, Im a visitor. And yet, I lived in this house much longer than I ever lived anywhere else. I can walk all around it in the dark and know where everything is. It is the only place on earth that has ever felt home-like to me. I like knowing GrandMich is sleeping peacefully right across the hall, and GrandMary smiles at me from a large portrait hanging on the wall above this futon. But sometimes I wonder if Im just kidding myself with these good feelings. There are other pictures of them too, before I met them, back when their biological grandchildren were young, back when their children were young, back when they were young. And I dont fit into any of these pictures. I was never officially adopted. This is not my family. Im just a stray cat who likes to hang around. I dont belong. None of this really makes any sense. How on earth did I end up across the hall from a 95-year-old man of unspecified relation to me, lying awake just happy he had another good day today, holding my own breath some times just to hear him still breathing? I dont know, its weird I guess. But so what? He and GrandMary loved me as well as any humans could ever love another human. And when no one else did. They are how I know what love is. And that is how I know I love them back. Maybe that doesnt make any sense, but it doesnt have to. It just is.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Mar 2014 05:16:35 +0000
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