She awoke to a very unhappy cat. He had patiently slept beside her while she read through the night, and she had finally pulled the mohair throw over herself sometime around dawn and fallen into a deep sleep. She dreamt about plants – herbs, jade plants, cacti.
But now it was ten and the cat was so done with being patient. He was hungry and she padded barefoot into the kitchen and filled his bowl, then opened the door a crack so he could go outside as soon as he was done eating.
It was cold, the thermometer reading minus two, but it was sunny, and the air was crisp and promising. The fat black squirrel, who had been scavenging for seeds under the bird feeder, startled and leapt off the porch landing on the cedar boughs. She never ceased to be amused at this acrobatic stunt she witnessed numerous times during a week. You would think he would learn that I am not a threat, she thought. But fear is a powerful feeling, and she knew that she would still go into flight mode in many situations. Fight or flight. Or in her case, anxiety or depression. Maybe she should start considering the fight option.