Still Here 🧵 1 of 2
by Crissy Bliss Addams
17 years ago,
she spoke to me from behind the glass
at the Humane Society —
not with a cry,
but a casual hello,
like we’d always known each other.
She’d was found on the streets,
a young mother with newborns.
Her kittens were adopted,
she was fixed,
and finally free to be chosen.
She chose me.
And I said yes.
She’s never been a lap cat.
But if when I'm peaceful,
she’ll sit nearby —
close enough to feel me,
far enough to be herself.
As she grew older,
she wanted to be outside more.
Not alone —
with me.
So I followed her into the sun,
into the quiet,
into the rhythm of her world.
