this island of the gods

It was the middle of an early September night when I arrived, the entirety of my belongings in one bag. The air was thick with moisture, a welcome change after six weeks in the California desert. M met me in the lobby; she’d been here for a week already. We sipped a cup of instant coffee in the dark courtyard, and she introduced me to the fluffy orange hotel cat. Over the years, this Island of the Gods had become the place we went when life had gone off the rails and we didn’t know our next move. This time was no different. I knew I was in a transition and that I needed to regroup. But what I didn’t know is that I’d just checked in to the place I’d call home for the next six years. Or that the ginger kitty who’d followed me up to my room that night would become my best friend.

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