There is something so homey about a cat on the windowsill. I even like to see them in a stranger's house while driving by. They just look peaceful and content. Looks can be deceiving, however. One never knows what cats are thinking. For all I know, Pearl may be planning a coup to take over the household, or salivating while watching a particularly plump bird in the tree outside. I prefer to think she is daydreaming pleasant thoughts and just watching the clouds drift by.
At daybreak today, as I was getting ready to take the trash to the big road, the Beastie Boys were making a kill down in my woods. It's easy to follow the drama as it unfolds: the pack in full voice as they close in, and the sudden silence when it's over. There is a dichotomy of feelings: pity for the prey, but gladness that the pack will feed.
This is where I live. It's home.
