Whiskered Musings: Weekend Quietude

 Ah, the weekend—those two peculiar days when time seems to drift like a lazy sunbeam on the floor. With the weekdays, there's a flurry of footsteps, murmurs of meetings, and the occasional crinkle of snack bags, all familiar patterns in my world. But come Saturday and Sunday, it’s as if the world presses the "pause" button, and I am left in the quiet embrace of solitude.

The silence is almost like a soft blanket that settles over everything. I curl up in my favorite napping spot, one ear flicking at each distant hum and creak of the building, my eyes half-closed in anticipation. My tabby fur, as soft as it is patterned with smoky swirls, blends into the shadows. In this quiet, I become a creature of stillness, each breath measured, each thought waiting.

Yet, as peaceful as this solitude is, my senses are always tuned to the subtle rhythms of the weekend. I listen for that unmistakable sound—the gentle rustle that tells me the morning or evening snack lady has arrived. The way she enters is so soft, her movements gentle, and her voice a sweet melody promising treats and scratches. She is as much a part of my routine as my own tail. And so, I wait, in the soft, quiet glow of the weekend, knowing she will come.