Cory is curled up in a ball in my lap right now, hidden under a blanket topped with two pillows. As soon as she realizes that I’m typing on my laptop, she’ll jump on the keyboard and rub her face against my hand.
Every morning Cory sits by the front door, where the sun rays shine in, illuminating her place atop the leather couch. She takes long baths using her tongue. Her favorite toys are aluminum balls and a red laser light. We often find Cory on the kitchen counter, and she can jump from the counter-top to the floor in one graceful move. Cory is rarely eager to go outside. When we let her out, she chases birds. When we wake Cory up, she takes several long seconds to stretch her legs and spread her paws before slowly standing on all fours. And Cory hates canines with a vengeance.
Cory is a dog. Actually, Cory is a cat trapped in a dog’s body. And we love her little personality deeply. In fact, I’m a skinny girl who walks around in a fat woman’s body, and my family still loves me, too. For what it’s worth, I’m also a cat lover in a world of dog lovers. And my family and friends don’t care.
There are a lot of norms that Cory and I don’t conform to. We’re different in a world where that often leads to bullying and chastisement.
What a wonderful world it would be if we were all free to sit in the sunlight, our chins held high as we soaked up the warmth of the world.
PHOMSITHI'S PLAYGROUND 