By Cristina Farinas
My human’s Dad built it.
She was still small, and I, feline-spry. Hammers and saws, wood and nails. Paint. She squealed when she returned from a weekend at Nonna’s and saw it. She climbed climbed climbed. Then called me up and wondered at it all—the window to see treetops, a soft chair where we read for hours, the drawing she made of us he’d nailed to the wall.
Yesterday she hugged me, made her Dad promise to love me while she’s away.
I climb climb climb.
To our treehouse, where I see our drawing and sleep wrapped in our memories.
Sweet
This is adorable! Nice job.