Good to be home

So I've been housesitting for Stacey all Labor Day weekend. Which I like. I like her cats, I like her big screen, and I like her 20 bucks a night. But boy was it good to be home last night. To curl up in my own bed, with a mosaic of leaf shadows coming through the window, draping the wall, me, the bed and the floor. My own cat curling up on my stomach, begging for a head scratch. The rasping sounds of my hermit crabs climbing the castle in their dry tank. My own white owl swooping noiselessly past my window and my own weird cricket with the little machine-gun blast of chirping, followed by silence. I wonder how long crickets live. I'm going to miss that one.