Losing a parent is difficult and inheriting property is often difficult as well. For some, it may be a helicopter or a multitude of money. For others, it is loads of junk to add to your already cluttered existence.
In my case, part of the inheritance was a house. Tucked in the house, however, were two jewels. As in two common North American house cats.
Freedom (or lack there of)
When my parents lived in the house, the cats viewed me as a buddy but not essential to their existence. Now it has changed. Now they hang on my every move. If I switch positions, they spring to life out of a deep sleep in a battle to get my attention. Go to the other room and they are close behind.
So I have learned to become a spy of sorts.
I start heading in one direction then suddenly reverse course and sneak around the back hallway to ditch them.
Sometimes when I can escape, I dream of seeing them being loaded into nice cages at the pound. Then a vision of my mother pops up and she is shaking her fists at me and yelling, “My babies! What are you doing to my babies!!”
So my future is one of being spied upon and servitude to two furry masters.
Does the National Security Agency need two employees for cheap?