She walks along one side of the aisle, bracketed by basil, dill, and parsley, as I walk down the other. We glance at each other with that quick, subliminal inventory we use in chance meetings. “Healthy kitty, fur glistening.” “Busy shopper, winter gardener.”
Later we pass one another going in opposite directions. She had attended to cat priorities, and I, strolling toward checkout, push my cart full of kale, chard, lettuce, tomato and trays of fragrant herbs. What the heck, meeting twice means something. I kneel down and stretch out my hand.
Tabby accepts the gesture. She slowly walks over to me and brushes against my hand. I scratch her head gently between the ears. Purring softly Tabby lies at my side while I stroke her fur.
With a final pat I stand up and return to my cart. Tabby gets up, walks to the end aisle display and rubs against it indulgently, then stretches her body way out, about yard long, it seems.
Tabby decides to sit down on the walkway to groom herself for a couple of minutes – legs, paws, tummy and even her back. Satisfied, she gives a mighty yawn, lies down, rolls onto her back, limbs outstretched. Only the occasional twitching of her tail suggests she is still aware of her surroundings.
Totally relaxed. No expectations of me or passersby, the past or the future.
Happy to be where she is right now, enjoying every minute.
Thank you, Tabby, for the reminder!
