Mocha

So tired when I got home, but we had to get food for dinner, at least. Once we'd done all that, D started cooking, and I took the door-haunting cat outside. Well, a guy with his dog walked past. One of those cattle dog/mixes and Moby was just going to go back in. Lingered at the closed door. I took the chair to the lawn, and reluctantly, Moby followed. Settled himself on the lawn to munch grass and wander a bit. He'd gotten to the point of lounging a couple of feet from me, D had just come out to see how we were doing, when Mocha bounded out of nowhere, and jumped over Moby. Moby very startled, splayed himself for a moment. I focused on the dog - who was just playing, to stand between if necessary. D says every bit of Moby's fur was right on end, but it took cat a moment or two to seriously decide to retreat. Mocha's guy got her leashed and away without a problem.

A moment later, Moby is inside, up on the tree, looking out, tail up, not so much frightened as startled, and back to ruling his domain. So secure, so brave, not hiding, not much bothered. "What was that? That was kinda exciting!"

This owning a house, or perhaps more correctly - us at this time having this right house - has been a profound change that we could not have anticipated. It's not about buying a house or not, anymore than it's ever about being married or not. It's about the right big choice at the right time, real love, trusting one's instincts after a lifetime of honing them. Probably why it was such an unexpectedly harsh move, we were making a much deeper and complete transformation than we could understand from that side of the decision. We never minded apartments or the transience of our life before, all things pass. We decided to find a house for rather logical reasons, market forces, and a cat. But the cat, like any decent small, household god, for his own mysterious reasons, led us to a kind of small domestic paradise appropriate for his adoration.