Grimalkin

When we visited grandma's house, before the accident, my memories seem highly exaggerated. When I recall the staircase leading up to the front door, I picture an entryway to a royal castle, with enough steps to make you want a cup of water on the way up. I remember the small foyer to seem to be a hub of activity, our family's grand central. Aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors always going in and out. And once you got through the greeting area into the living room, there grandma would be sitting in her throne. A wise old lady with a broad smile on her face, she was always happy to see me. Her grimalkin would purr to welcome the visitors. The feline had puffy, long hair, and was surely as old as grandma.