Magaret B. Davidson
My life is a comfortable one. Being that I am a cat -- a Siamese cat -- such luxury is an entitlement by virtue of my heritage. I find no fault in my circumstances in that regard.
There used to be two of us. Chiang was already a resident here when I moved in. I do not believe that he was all that pleased at my arrival. He made it clear to me that I was the newcomer and that I could intrude upon his territory only at his pleasure. Still, we rubbed along quite well. On chilly days he would allow me to snuggle up next to him on the chair by the window so that the sun could warm us both. He would spend time each day scrubbing me with his sandpaper tongue. My ears always received a little extra attention. When he was in an exceptionally mellow mood, Chiang would even allow me to clean his tail.
I knew when Chiang became ill. What I do not know is where he went. He did not die here; I would have known that. He just disappeared one day. I waited for him to come back, but now I do not think he will. It has been too long . . .
So now I sit in the window alone. When my mistress is home I sit on her. She pets and strokes me and this pleases me greatly. I wish she were home more often. I wish that, when she is home, she would sit more . . .
I wish I were not so lonely.
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Margaret's Story List and Biography