The California Lunch Room has been closed for years, but I learned when I was younger how to shimmy my way through a side door. This magical abandoned diner was my secret hideaway, my hideout, my “den of imagination and adventure”, up until the day my human family left without me. Now it is my home. We lived next door in a green painted house with two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen, and an amazing front porch. I spent most of my days exploring the mysteries that lay under that porch, and my evenings curled up beside my best friend in the whole world, Samantha. Sam, as her Father calls her, is now seven years old and has long blond pigtails and a beautiful smile. She loved me very much, at least I thought she did. It’s been almost a year since that morning they drove away. A sign, I couldn’t read, had been placed in the front yard, and I had not understood what all the boxes and packed suitcases meant. I was outside exploring. It began to rain, and I took refuge in my favorite corner of the Lunch Room. I was staying dry and napping in an empty display shelf when I heard Samantha calling my name from out in the rain. “Sparkles! Sparkles!” She named me that because I am a grey and brown tabby, and she said my eyes sparkle. Well, they must have thought I had run away. By the time I squeezed through the gap in the door, they were gone. I was alone.

Over this last year, this old building has served me well. I have been able to find plenty of food and water.  It has kept me warm and dry. No longer its only resident, I share this dwelling with three friends: Chester and Martha, two field mice from a gas station down the road, and Howard, a brown, pudgy house mouse. Howard’s great, great-grandfather lived here when the Lunch Room was in its prime. In the evenings, the three of us often take turns telling stories. Howard has some great stories that his family has passed down to him about the diner. Chester and Martha love to tell stories that are all about cars and trucks. Me? My stories always include a pretty blond girl with pigtails and a beautiful smile. I try my best always to have the story end happily, but I know my friends can see and hear my sadness.

It is a late afternoon in summer. I see a lady remove the sign from the front yard, as a familiar minivan pulls into the driveway. The story I always dreamed of, but could never tell, is about to come true. A male voice, I recognize, says, “I am so glad it didn’t sell. We’re home!” I hear Samantha call out, “Sparkles! Sparkles! Where are you, Sparkles?”

Squeezing through the gap in the door, I leap into the arms of my sobbing Samantha.