The Love of Home

Home reminds me of the fluffy silk blanket, coloured in golden brown. The sunlight leaks through the window, illuminating my cat who sits cuddled on my desk in her tiny grey bed. The smell of burnt fur always fills my nose; the broken vacuum that sits behind my door is full of animal fur. Each time we turn it on, it makes a shuddering sound then turns off. The vacuum points toward my bed that has blue soccer sheets on it and a big duvet layered atop a thin blanket. Directly below my room is the den. I call it the gaming room, but my dad insists on “man cave”. My grandma moved in my basement before my Dad could design his domain. The basement stairs have a weird shape, wider at the bottom and slimmer at the top. A chair lift sits to the right. It’s perched atop a rail, which is lit up by red lights. When my grandma isn't home, usually on her Thursday shopping days with my aunt, I go up and down the chair lift. It’s like a slow roller coaster that I can use whenever I want. It's quite loud down there with my dog chasing my cat. It makes a pounding sound and there is constant screeching with my old chunky cat chasing my new tiny kitten around the house. It's not the walls, or carpet, or the PS5, not even my bedroom that makes it home; it's who’s in it, my pets who jump up and down happy to see me, my family who smiles and hugs me tightly. It's the warmth and the love that makes it home, not what you have. That is why I am grateful for the people who make my home…Home. Mom, Dad, I love you.