Sometimes, she said, Golden waited behind the bushes until she came outside. Other times, she caught a glimpse of a long tail disappearing around the corner of the house.
“He’s getting comfortable with me,” she told us proudly. “Yesterday, he sat right there and watched me drink my coffee.”
My father exchanged an amused look with me.
Grandma lived alone in a small house at the edge of a wooded area. The nearest neighbor was several hundred yards away, and beyond her garden stretched miles of trees, rocky hills, and narrow trails.
We had always worried about her living so far from other people.
But Grandma was stubborn. At seventy-eight, she still insisted she could take care of herself.
“I raised three children without losing my mind,” she often said. “I think I can manage a little garden.”
Then came the morning everything changed.
My father had installed security cameras around her property after someone stole a package from her porch. Grandma complained about them at first, claiming they made her feel like she was living in a prison.
