It’s times like this,
When I come home
to see a fluffy Maine Coon sprawled across a woven rug by a roaring fire,
Embers twirling up the brick chimney like escaping ballerinas,
The TV cheering with a recording of last night’s game
Pictures of a family trip to Spain dotting the old hallway,
And a family of four at the dinner table, waiting patiently to finish prayer, Amen, and eat,
That I think to myself.
I’ve never been to Spain.
I don’t know who these people are.
I’m pretty sure I just wandered into a random person’s house.
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