{Five Minute Friday} Grit

Grit. Grit. Grit.

My bare feet feel grit on the stairs. Grit on the kitchen floor.

I sit to eat breakfast but pause, first, to sponge away the grit on the dining room table.

When you own three cats who love gopher hunting, you live with grit, lots of grit.

People who prefer cleanliness can’t fathom how we put up with the grit. And the fur. And the relentless theft of chairs, sofas, and beds.

But one grit-bearer has special grit all his own. He has a knack for knowing when and where he’s needed, finds the person, and takes up residence.

Sometimes it’s his “mom” who needs a warm kitty to sleep with.

Last year, it was my mother, who woke up every time he hopped on her lap. And she talked to him, stroking his fur, calling him by name.

She used to be the very one who preferred cleanliness and couldn’t fathom how we put up with the grit.

I can’t imagine living without it.