Simba helped me pack this evening. Anytime I bring out the suitcase and open the top flap, he hops right in. I guess he wants to put enough fur into the suitcase so that I remember him. But I always remember my furbaby. When I travel I miss that round little head laying on my hand and using it for a pillow. I miss the softness of his fur. I miss the weight of him leaning up again my side while I read in bed and purring gently as I rub his neck or belly.
There’s something to be said about knowing he’s waiting for me to come home.
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