Head of the Household

There was a period when I came home mostly to sleep.

This created a problem of governance.

I had the key, paid the bills, and could make all major administrative decisions. The cat, however, spent far more time in the house than I did.

The evidence was against me.

The cat knew the daytime sounds of the apartment. The cat knew when sunlight reached the floor, which neighbors used the stairs, and which chair was warmest in the afternoon.

I knew where the bed was.

By any reasonable measure of presence, leadership had already changed hands.

So I decided that the title of head of the household should be transferred to the cat by majority vote.

The election was simple.

The cat had one vote.

I had one vote.

The result was unanimous.

After that, I understood my role more clearly. I was not running the household. I was a senior official who appeared late in the evening, slept, and left again.

The cat had continuity.

The cat had institutional memory.

The cat also controlled the sofa.

Years later, the joke still seems accurate. Ownership and presence are not the same thing.

A house belongs most strongly to whoever is actually there.

At that time, that was not me.

The transfer of power was peaceful.

I was probably at work when it happened.