Personal Narrative Fiction

Boxes tumbled one after another as my cat blinked out of fear behind it, staring at the boxes.

“Tigger!” My mother exclaimed as she rolled her eyes, catching my attention as I poke my head through the archway.

“What did he do?” I asked as my mother walked over to the boxes and started to pick up the boxes.

“He knocked over these boxes,” she explained as she gave a pointed look to my brown tabby.

Sighing, I walked over to help her, kneeling on one knee.

“It seems he doesn't want to leave either,” I murmur as my cat nudges my hand, wanting to be petted. He started purring and I smiled as I rubbed his ears.

“You know it’s for the best, Jess.” My mothers tone changed to one of a person who sounded tired. Tired of talking about the subject, tired of trying to do the work of it all.

Why Lansing was turning into such an awful place to live, we didn’t know. The schooling was horrible, the kids there were rude and they were the definition of bullies.

After that incident with my cat, I started seeing how much moving really meant to my mother, how much it made her more excited to live closer to her parents and how she lit up when she spoke of it. I decided to try not to fight the move, like how my sister was. She didn’t want to go, she had friends here, she had a life. I didn’t. I didn’t want ties to the community that I despised so