Home
Home is where I get tackled before I can even think about taking off my dusty backpack. Home is where the dog leaves skid marks running to greet me, then stares at me in silence, disbelieving, and proceeds to solemnly sit on my feet so I can’t leave again. It’s where warm, mouthwatering spices envelop me as soon as I step through the door. Home is where the cat is…nowhere to be seen? Ahem. Well. Home isn’t the tidiest, but it’s also not the messiest. I know where to sidestep to avoid misplaced shoes, or the pile of newspapers that haven’t made it to recycling yet. Home is where the walls themselves feel like a hug. Oh, that’s where the cat went! Of course, home is where the cat gives me a disapproving look from where he’s commandeered my pillow. Home is where I can rule in my cozy sweats and ancient slippers, where I know every lump in my bed, and where I can find my water bottle in pitch black. Home is where the water pressure sucks, but it just means I can sing a little longer while fighting to wash the soap off. It’s where boring food is comforting, where a cold nose wakes me in the morning and where the cat appears as soon as I step in the kitchen. It’s routine. It’s familiar. It’s home; and I wonder, how could I have ever wanted to leave?