Who's to say

Debra and I are watching NCIS. She is laying in her bed and I am sitting on the brown leather chair near the patio doors with the swimming pool in my view just over my shoulder. It's a good day. Debra and I had and are having a good day. I will start preparing her dinner in about thirty minutes.

I like these entries. Where there is no drama or nagging negative thought pulling me to write. Just writing because I do. This is how I like life. Just living it because I do. Not constantly fighting through one hard situation after another.

The show is over now and I need to change her. I'll be back.

Debra is so funny. When I finished cleaning and changing her I brought her a cup of cranberry juice. As I walked toward her I asked her if she wanted juice. "No, thank you." She responded. Which is odd because she usually does. I said, "Oh, I guess I don't know everything." She laughed and said, "no, you can't, but you sure try."

Debra's cat, Chuckie is laying on the floor behind and partially under the chair I'm sitting on. This is the first cat I've ever been around this long. I don't usually trust cats. I'm scared of them in a way. To me, they always look like they are going to jump up and scratch me and then walk away like nothing happened.

I interviewed Journey Johnson about a year and a half ago on this blog and we talked a lot about cats. I told her what I just mentioned and she said that cats that come into your life act like you. They do what you would do. Perhaps. Very interesting when I think about it. I've never seen a cat jump up and scratch anyone, they just look like they would.

People have told me that I look mean. These are people who have never seen me so much as hurt a fly, but to them I look like I would. Hurt. I judge and get judged. I judge and have been judged incorrectly. But who is to say incorrectly? I don't that I won't do what others judge I would. Likewise, I don't know that a cat won't stretch his claws and scratch. For now, I'll keep my distance from Chuckie.