By the time I get home, my legs are done negotiating. They’ve carried me up steps, down driveways, and across sidewalks. Then there’s the occasional lawn that felt like its own zip code. My feet have memorized every crack in the pavement and every awkward slope of a front stoop. It’s been a day.
So when I finally step inside, drop the bag, kick off the shoes that have definitely seen better times, and spot the couch. It doesn’t just look inviting, it looks like a promise.
I don’t sit, I melt… Slowly. Gratefully. Like I’m easing into a cloud that understands me. My spine lets out a silent little thank you. My knees stop complaining to me. For the first time all day, I’m not moving. I’m not carrying. I’m not navigating. I’m just… sitting.
And then, of course, she shows up.
The Sit-uation Escalates
Then out of nowhere, The Cat appears. Like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. She’s been invisible all day; probably napping in a sunbeam or silently judging the neighborhood from her perch. But now that I’ve finally claimed my Seat of Stillness, she decides it’s her time to make herself known.
She hops up with the confidence of someone who pays rent. Circles once. Twice. Then settles squarely on my lap like she’s clocking in for a shift. The purring starts immediately. Soft, steady, and just smug enough to let me know she’s in charge now.
I try to reach for the remote. She stretches. I shift slightly to one side. She glares at me, saying, “Don’t even think about it.” Then I sneeze. Now she acts like I’ve just ruined everything.
But honestly? I don’t mind. Somehow, her warm little loaf of a body makes the sit even better. Like she’s the final touch on a moment I’ve been chasing since sunrise.
So here’s to the Sit. To the tired legs, the sore feet, and the lower back pain. And to the cat who turns your moment of rest into a shared ritual. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, except maybe a snack I can reach without disturbing Her Royal Meowjesty.
