Father Knows Best

Every night now, when I arrive home from work, pull the Respectmobile in the drive, and unlock the back door, my cat Dinky rushes into the kitchen, does a little twirl, a pirouette, of welcome.

It’s not exactly a Margaret Anderson/Jane Wyatt, “Father Knows Best” kiss and a hug at the door.

But it does quite nicely.

Quite nicely.

For now.