We’ve all experienced it—the joy of return—coming home, welcoming back an old friend or family member, revisiting a place we loved.
Last night, I saw Red on the back porch, waiting to be fed.
I startled when Graygun jumped into the frame and braced my nerves for a cat fight.
They jumped and tumbled, but it was immediately evident they were playing.
“Aw,” my heart sang, and I turned to collect some cream and kibble for them.
That’s when I felt it: the warm familiar softness twining around my ankles.
“Rosie!”
I reached for her in disbelief, expecting to draw air toward my heart, but my hands wrapped around the warmth of her ten pounds of golden purr.
“Rosie,” I whispered, drawing her body to my face and breathing in her familiar musk. “It’s really you.”
But I knew.
Still I insisted, let’s linger a little longer.
I told her how much I’d missed her—me, who misses no one and nothing. I told her how happy I was that she found her way back.
Looking out at Red and Graygun, I told her, “We have some things to sort out.”
The black cat Red earned his name because whenever Rosie would see him through the front window or in the backyard, she’d get the red ass and unleash a murderous howl. For Graygun too, but Graygun never came very close to me or the back door.
Now, Red and Graygun were in her territory, playing on her patio, in the same backyard where she disappeared eleven months ago.
I held warm Rosie against my heart and wondered what she would do when she saw them.
Waking
I knew.
On cue, she leapt from my arms, fur raised along her spine and tail. Then, the terrible howl woke me from my dream.
And it seems sad to wake and let go of the joy of return, the reunion I hope for. It’s hard to let go.
I sigh, I throw my feet off the bed, and pad down the stairs to where Red waits—alone—for cream and kibble.
I smile when he scurries to wait from a distance as I fill his bowls.
What will we do when Rosie returns?
I’m not sure.
And I’m not sure she ever will.
But I’m grateful she can return to me in dreams.
And on the page.
Like dreams, the page is a magic place where I can turn back time, where the lost return, where I can recover the joy, even if for a few lines.
©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2026
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