In My Own Voice #31: Making Sense of My Topsy Turvy World

The rules keep changing.

For years we had a routine. 

It was good.

The people left in the morning. The youngsters came home in the afternoon. The older ones a bit later. 

We ate breakfast together. We ate dinner together.

While everyone was out, I had free reign of the downstairs. Well, actually, even when they were home it was understood that I was Sharing the sofa with them. It was clear whose sofa it was.

But now, who knows?

The gate at the bottom of the stairs… Gone. Forever or will it be back in place one day? Dunno. I keep checking.

No gate, of course, means I sleep most nights upstairs.

At first it was just in the older folks’ room. But now, I’m spreading out a bit. 

Exploring the other rooms. 

The hall.

Taking time to figure out where it’s the most comfy.

Back downstairs, in the indoor/outdoor room they call the porch, they installed soft, squishy furniture. I haven’t quite figured out what rules apply.

So, if they are with me, or watching, I curl up on the rug. Once I’m pretty sure they are otherwise occupied, I head for the couch.

If they find me there, sometimes they scooch me off. 

Sometimes not. 

So, I figure, they don’t really know what they want. (Do they ever?)

On the other hand, I know what I want. Need I say more?