Every home needs a kitty who waits in the window for your return.
There is nothing more welcoming for me than a feline silhouette in one or more of my windows. Here, Mimi waits at the dining room window as I pull in front of the house with things to unload. Her greeting procedure once she has determined it’s me is to meow two quick “ee-eee” meows, stand up and stretch as tall as she can in the window, which is not terribly tall since she is tiny, and if the window is closed, slide her paws down the glass; if it’s open, she digs her claws into the screen—no, we don’t like this, but we live with it—stretch herself, then paw back down to the windowsill.
For half the 20 years I’ve been in this house I worked outside my home. The hours with that job were long and I rarely returned during daylight, but I had lamps on timers so that I wouldn’t come home to a dark house. I remember looking at my lit windows from as far down the street as I could see it, looking for my welcoming feline silhouettes—Sophie always at either the side window or my bedroom window upstairs in the front, Cookie in the front window downstairs, and Stanley and Kublai ranged around among the three downstairs windows. Even Sally, who was deaf, greeted me not just with a silhouette but with a meow I could hear outside even in winter when windows were closed. Any of the others of my feline family showed up at the windows as I walked up the side steps and came to the door, and all were at the door to greet me.
I can’t imagine it any other way.
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