Actually Tabby, the feline that owns me, is now moving in on my own private Angloswiss space, she has her own page at Cat Chronicles, where she writes her own contribution daily, with a little help from me, her human slave.
Every evening after the human evening meal where she waits for a few extras from our plates, she sits in front of this window which is in front of my desk where I write my prize winning suspicious blogs. I go to my desk and she is already there, just staring out of the window. I usually raise the blinds during the afternoon, but keep the window closed. If I opened the window to let her out she refuses to go and remains just sitting. Slowly the evening approaches and light begins to fail. I now only have the light from my computer screen.
I do not dare to make light in the room or close the blinds as I know it would be a feline catastrophe, a destruction of her concentration.
What does she see that I do not see? There is no visible movement in the garden outside the window, it is too cold for buzzing insects. There must be something there to attract her attention and concentration. Perhaps it is a gathering of the ghosts of felines passed. Perhaps her litter sister Nera and apprentice Fluffy float by from the eternal corn chambers in the Kingdom of Bastet to say hello, how are things in the nine lives? I don’t know and probably never will, but Tabby is there every evening, same time, same place.