This cat. That’s my first thought when the Orange Furball plops her warm little rump down on my lap, squeezes herself between me and my laptop, then curls up, closes her eyes, and goes soundly to sleep. In making herself comfortable, Sunday has rested her head on my wrist, turning it into a pillow I dare not move, and leaving me with only one hand to type. She’s also nudged my laptop away, so I have to lean over her to reach its keyboard.

This, to put it mildly, is not an optimal position in which to type. It’s difficult to respond to an email, much less write anything as long as a chapter of a novel. (Not that I blame her for my lap of productivity, mind you. Oh, no!)

Why, this cat! She thinks she owns my lap! That’s the first thought. The second is: To be perfectly, shamelessly frank, to some extent, she’s right. She does. And why? Because she owns my heart.

When I conceived this notion of moving to France, of resuming my life as a writer here, I couldn’t imagine doing so without the Orange Furball. Sunday has been with me for fifteen years; she has traveled with me from New York to Virginia, from São Paulo to DC, then to Warsaw, and back again. In the last four months alone, she’s gone with me from Los Angeles to Las Vegas, from Vegas to Denver, Denver to Munich, and now here to Provence. (And yes, she even has her own European Union passport!)

We’ve stayed in four different places just in the month we’ve been here in France (three AirBnBs and, for a brief couple of hours, one hotel). She’s put up with all the disruptions, the changes in food and kitty litter, in sights and smells and sounds, and she’s never complained, not once. She wants to be hugged more often, follows me around the apartment, and snuggles up close the minute I sit down, but she’s always been affectionate and, given all the changes I’ve put her through, she’s earned the right to be clingy. I couldn’t imagine a more intrepid, loving, and patient companion.

Like many senior cats, she has lost most of her teeth and has chronic kidney disease. So, I took her to the vet the other day and had her bloodwork done. The news was good. Her condition isn’t as advanced as I feared it might be. The vet prescribed a new medicine for her. Unfortunately, it has made her nauseous, so her appetite — already weak — has further deteriorated. I’m told the side effect is fleeting. I hope so.

In the meantime …

I’ve been working on my website, which is in dire need of updating. And I’ve resumed work on a novel I set aside a while ago. I’m reading more, making friends, and learning naughty words in French (most of which I quickly forget, unfortunately)! I’ve found a new apartment and we (as in Sunday and I) will move into it at the end of next month. So matters are going well for us.

I hope they are for you, too. You’ll notice I’ve switched to Substack. It seems to be the new trend these days and I’m definitely enjoying this platform. Let me know what you think!

À la prochaine fois!