I miss the cats. Where is the thunder of feet coming up the stairs? the bouce of the mattress as Typha makes her 10 lbs seem like 100? the trilling, head rubs and wet nose? the gentle, cautious steps and soft pat of a paw on my cheek as Tache makes her quiet bed check? No one to chase out of the closet. No one to herd back in the house after the escape through the open door. No meows asking for breakfast. No green and gold eyes watching me as I move around the kitchen. No ears turned in my direction listening to my breakfast chatter.
It's too quiet. I always knew that I talked to my animals but I didn't realize how much until now. Maybe if they ignored me I wouldn't do it, but they always listen and Tache often talks back. The boys used to listen to our exchanges and ask me to interrpret what Tache was saying. Even when they were old enough to realize that I wasn't Dr. Dolittle, they still enjoyed the notion that I could "talk to the animals".
I sit typing, the washing machine falls silent as it completes it's cycle, and I wait for the paw that tries to pull my arm away from my keyboard so that I can do something more important like stroking an old, grey head. But it doesn't come.
I'll be glad when tomorrow comes. Not only because an exciting adventure awaits; rest, relaxation, old friends and new ones with whom to chat; but also to leave behind the silence of ma maison sans mes chats.