Making homes

It was a pleasant day today, and I decided to walk along my usual jogging route, so that I had time to absorb the atmosphere and my surroundings. It's normally difficult to come up with a defensible excuse for walking rather than jogging, but "absorbing the atmosphere" is high on my priority list. So I took off, wearing silly stripey shorts and mis-matched socks, and hoping desperately that I wouldn't bump into anyone I knew along the way.

Halfway through my walk, I happened to glance into a corner store, and noticed a large furry cat curled up by the window, inside the store. As I passed, the cat opened it's eyes sleepily, gave a wide yawn, and then curled its head again to resume its nap. Something about the gesture reminded me terribly of Booboo, my cat in London, and before I knew it I'd entered the store.

"Can I please pet your cat?" I asked the owner. She laughed.
"Sure, go ahead!" She said. "She's not even my cat. She's just taken to spending her days here in the store, for some reason she's made it her home."
"It must be because you feed her," I guessed, as I ran my fingers along her silky fur.
"Funny thing is, I really don't," she mused. "She just comes here to sleep all day, she's just comfortable being here.
"Doesn't surprise me though," she continued. "Sometimes, that's just the way it works. When I was young I used to spend all my time at a neighbour's house. I don't know why. It just felt more like home to me."
I smiled. "I have to find myself a new home," I said. "My friend and I are thinking of moving in together. But we have to still start looking for an apartment."
"Don't worry. Somehow we all find places we can make our homes," she said sagely.