I carefully opened the car door, welcoming the crisp winter air. After vigorous nights of studying, I was finally finished with my first term of college. Leaving my comrades (if I may call them) invoked a sense of melancholy, but back then I thought seeing the people who raised you supersedes friendships. My belief was misinformed now reflecting upon it. Perhaps I was lowering myself to my instincts, but that did not matter.
A piercing screech filled the stagnant cold, abruptly interrupting my thoughts. I knew that noise well: The neighbor's lanky cat. The Wellings were pleasant folk; they were the type you would want at a dinner party. They adopted their cat a few years back when Mr. Wellings came back with a kitten. Mr. Wellings claimed to have found the kitten. He has always had a soft-spot for innocuous things. They once asked for my family to take care of their cat while they went on a cruise. The cat and I had an unspoken hatred for each other. Needless to say, the Wellings asked a relative the next time they vacationed.
A flash of orange entered my peripheral. "Ah," I began, "How are you, Sam?" Turning around, I was greeted by an impish feline perched on my car roof. Sam snarled at me; I sighed in response. I gave him a quick grin. The his ears twitched and the hairs on his his lower half began to rise. We commenced a clash of glares. I cautiously held out my hand while Sam eyed it suspiciously, but eventually and reluctantly rubbed his fuzzy head in my palm.
“I’m back, Sam,” I chuckled quietly. As if by command, Sam meowed in response. He gave me a final glance and jumped off my car, creating indents in the grass.
I trod my way up to the familiar building. After two coherent knocks , the the slammed open, revealing a woman of tender age.
"Ren," she beamed. Her eyes twinkled. No doubt they were beginning to water.
"Come in!" she exclaimed, "You must be freezing."
"With pleasure," I quickly reply, entering the sung home.
An amorous air of cinnamon and ginger enveloped me the moment I entered. I took off my coat and hung it the closet.
“Hurry, Ren,” my mother urged, “The others are waiting.”
I followed her down the hall until we both stood in the doorway of the lounge.
“Ren, you’re back,” my father stated.
A tuft of unmanaged hair peered over its book, “Hey, Ren,” greeted my brother.