In Speckles' old home, Missus had a chair, where she would sit with things she called "books" and be very quiet for a long time. Speckles didn't understand why books got the place of honor on Missus' lap; he didn't understand what they were good for. They didn't frighten away the squirrels that peeked inside the windows, they didn't warm Missus' bed, and they definitely weren't good for eating. But they made Missus happy, and for that reason alone, Speckles tolerated them, and shared Missus and the big chair with them.
But one day, Missus disappeared. Strange men put her on a funny little bed with wheels and covered her all up, then took her away. Afterward, Honey, Missus' grown-up kitten, came over and started putting things in boxes: first the pictures, then the knick-knacks, then the books. Speckles watched in horror, certain he would be next. So, when Honey opened the door to take out a box, he made his escape. Better to live on the street than inside a box, especially since Missus was gone.
The street was cold and lonely, though, and food was hard to come by. He was weak by the time he followed the scent of Frisky Bits to the new yard, and could only eat a few mouthfuls before feeling sick. Looking for a place to nap, he turned around and saw it: the big chair. It was Missus', no doubt, and the moment he climbed onto it, he could smell her in the fabric, remember the warmth of her lap. His belly full for the first time in days, he kneaded the cushion and curled up to sleep, certain that the chair had found him, that Missus herself had put it here to keep him safe and happy and lonely no more.