The Adventures of Young Elizabeth and Rollo, the Cat Who Thought He Was a Dog

Hi. I’m Elizabeth, but then you probably guessed that. “Young Elizabeth” was me, four years ago. I was fifteen then, in the summer before my sophomore year in high school – the only high school in the small town were I grew up. It was a time and a place when friendships were few, but meant something more, and life wasn’t so complicated or scary. I’m a sophomore in college now, an aspiring writer. And the furball lying flat on his back on my bed? That’s Rollo, my cat and long-time friend, a little older and a tad heavier now, but still plenty sharp and always there for me when I need him. Rollo and I, we’ve been through a lot together, but I’ve got a feeling our greatest adventures are still ahead of us.

“Mearrk!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved back at him without turning to look up from my laptop. “Hold on while I finish what I’m typing.” He’s so impatient. No matter how many times I tell this story, he still gets a kick out of it. “I know,” I say out loud, rolling back in my chair and reaching out to wiggle my fingers on his stomach. “I’m excited too.”