She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door.
Josephine took a last look at the living room, making sure everything was neat, because she
hated to leave a messy house. She left the book on the side table near her cushioned reading chair
and turned off the light; no need to waste electricity while she was gone. She carried her teacup
into the kitchen and washed it, placing it on the draining rack to dry. She threw the teabag into
the wastebin, though she usually could get two cups out of it. Today there would not be time for
a second cup, because she was finally ready to leave the house. Miss Muffet rubbed her silky
white back against the paper-thin skin of Josephine’s ankles, meowing to let her know it was
breakfast time, and the dry kibble in her dish was merely for snacking. Josephine reached into
the cupboard for one of the many small tins of Fancy Feast, stacked neatly in rows, arranged by
flavor, though she knew these things made no difference to the cat. Every Wednesday afternoon,
she took the bus down to the Hannaford and used meticulously clipped coupons to replenish the
stacks of cat food, savoring the weekly excursion as a celebration of her own independence, no
matter how mundane grocery shopping might seem. When you get to be my age, she thought, it’s
an accomplishment just to wake up in your own bed, so why not take joy where you can?
She took down one of the smaller dishes from the cupboard, a plain white china bowl that
she’d bought specifically for Muffet’s meals, and used a clean fork to break up the solid mass of
cat food from the can. Again, it was an action of no consequence to the cat, but that Josephine
felt made the day pass by just a little better than it might have had she not taken the extra steps to
do it. She washed the fork and set it alongside her teacup in the draining rack, and rinsed out the
empty can before putting it in the bin for recycling. She set down Muffet’s plate and stroked her
back, feeling the soft vibrato of her purring under her fingertips. “That’s a good girl,” she
praised, and walked towards the door where she’d hung her sweater and rested her cane. Now
that the living room was tidy, there were no dirty dishes in the kitchen and the cat was fed, it was
time to leave. They’re waiting for me, after all, she thought, and tried to hurry, though her hip
hurt from the tumble she took back in October and she’d still not gotten used to walking with the
cane. She pulled on her favorite sweater, the one her sister Lillian had lovingly knitted her for
Christmas back in 1983, whose acrylic, which had been scratchy when it was new, was now soft
from almost thirty years worth of laundry cycles. Once she walked through the door, the hardest
part was over, because the driver was there on time. She rolled down the window and breathed in
the spring air, noticing the warmer temperature didn’t make her hip hurt as much as it had in the
winter. When she reached the maternity ward, she was eager to greet her family and to see the
new baby. The child was perfect. Josephine blinked her eyes, forgot everything she’d read in the
book by the table, and let out a wail to let the world know that she was alive.
Josephine took a last look at the living room, making sure everything was neat, because she
hated to leave a messy house. She left the book on the side table near her cushioned reading chair
and turned off the light; no need to waste electricity while she was gone. She carried her teacup
into the kitchen and washed it, placing it on the draining rack to dry. She threw the teabag into
the wastebin, though she usually could get two cups out of it. Today there would not be time for
a second cup, because she was finally ready to leave the house. Miss Muffet rubbed her silky
white back against the paper-thin skin of Josephine’s ankles, meowing to let her know it was
breakfast time, and the dry kibble in her dish was merely for snacking. Josephine reached into
the cupboard for one of the many small tins of Fancy Feast, stacked neatly in rows, arranged by
flavor, though she knew these things made no difference to the cat. Every Wednesday afternoon,
she took the bus down to the Hannaford and used meticulously clipped coupons to replenish the
stacks of cat food, savoring the weekly excursion as a celebration of her own independence, no
matter how mundane grocery shopping might seem. When you get to be my age, she thought, it’s
an accomplishment just to wake up in your own bed, so why not take joy where you can?
She took down one of the smaller dishes from the cupboard, a plain white china bowl that
she’d bought specifically for Muffet’s meals, and used a clean fork to break up the solid mass of
cat food from the can. Again, it was an action of no consequence to the cat, but that Josephine
felt made the day pass by just a little better than it might have had she not taken the extra steps to
do it. She washed the fork and set it alongside her teacup in the draining rack, and rinsed out the
empty can before putting it in the bin for recycling. She set down Muffet’s plate and stroked her
back, feeling the soft vibrato of her purring under her fingertips. “That’s a good girl,” she
praised, and walked towards the door where she’d hung her sweater and rested her cane. Now
that the living room was tidy, there were no dirty dishes in the kitchen and the cat was fed, it was
time to leave. They’re waiting for me, after all, she thought, and tried to hurry, though her hip
hurt from the tumble she took back in October and she’d still not gotten used to walking with the
cane. She pulled on her favorite sweater, the one her sister Lillian had lovingly knitted her for
Christmas back in 1983, whose acrylic, which had been scratchy when it was new, was now soft
from almost thirty years worth of laundry cycles. Once she walked through the door, the hardest
part was over, because the driver was there on time. She rolled down the window and breathed in
the spring air, noticing the warmer temperature didn’t make her hip hurt as much as it had in the
winter. When she reached the maternity ward, she was eager to greet her family and to see the
new baby. The child was perfect. Josephine blinked her eyes, forgot everything she’d read in the
book by the table, and let out a wail to let the world know that she was alive.
