Thanksgiving passed Sheba by. We were gone a couple of hours during the day, but that's not unusual and didn't upset her. She spent that time on my chair, which she has recently adopted. It does not have a towel on it, but does have a memory-foam cushion covered in imitation sheepskin. Apparently just the thing for a cat.
When Sheba came into this house she was too scared to get up on my chair. If she had, she would have jumped down and run away, meowing, when I went to sit beside her. Now she sits there in the middle of the cushion as I carefully edge in, encouraging her to move aside a little and make room for me. She is not aggressive about it, but has come into her natural feline dominance. I was here first. What I thought of as "my chair" is one of her pillars now.
Some 40 people were at the church dinner this year. I thought, "all the lonely people," people without any pillars of family to sit on. Then I realized that we are now the generation on top. For an increasing number of us, there is nobody up there, no parents to go home to. Nevertheless, when we came home Tom and I did not have that sense of empty house - we had Sheba, jumping down off The Chair Formerly Known as Mine and squalling to remind me that when I've been gone a long time and come back, treats are due. She was happy with her usual treats, and for her Thanksgiving dinner had Purina liver and bacon supper. She is always happy when things are just the way they have been before, which in her mind is the way they are supposed to be. Predictable. Secure.