Never Really Alone

Although I tell people that I live alone, that isn't technically true. I suppose it depends upon your definition of "alone." I do not, for example, have to answer to anyone if I don't rinse out my coffee cup immediately. Or leave my knitting project sitting on the couch. Or neglect to make my bed within five minutes of leaving it in the morning (OK, that never really happens!). And when I put a book down, it stays where I left it. The kitchen rubbish doesn't take itself out and the cats give me an evil glare if the cat box is not scrupulously tended to. Which brings me to the point of this short scribble.

With one brief exception (some time in my young childhood when my brother's perceived allergies caused a general removal of all critters for a short while), my life has always included domestic animals. Usually in multiples. My father was constantly saying that he longed for the day that it would just be he and my mother, alone again, with no kids and no pets. My mother would smile sweetly and look the other way. I think that situation actually happened once for a few weeks. Then somebody called her about a rescue dachshund and normality returned. In fact, in a salute to God's occasional sense of low comedy, the ashes of one of Mom's dogs are interred with Mom's and Dad's ashes. I am sure Dad is putting up with it with the same grace with which he tolerated his spouse's and children's love of critters while he was with us.

The last husband said he didn't think it was very funny when I would say, "Don't tell me it's either me or the dogs; the dogs are still here and I have several ex-husbands." And now I have one more. And the dogs are still here. But aren't furkids just the best? I mean, once you get past the fuzzy dust bunnies, the occasional unintentional indiscretions, the nasty surprises (e.g., somebody was chewing on the AC adapter for the phone/computer/iPad, somebody has been sleeping in the clean laundry, somebody took a flying leap off the file you left on the desk and there are now papers all over the floor, somebody mistook your slipper for the babylamb dog toy, etc.), they are simply nothing but a good time. Always glad to see you. Forever fascinating in their various pack dynamics. Hysterically funny to watch. Unendingly cuddlesome. Never disputatious (unless you count The Look when you tell the antique miniature dachshund - the one who outlived Mom - to go outside when it's cold). Leaving the intellectual conversations aside, company just doesn't get much better than this. And when I was on crutches after two surgeries, they even learned not to go bowling past me in the hall like a raiding troop of Cossacks.

So, I raise a glass (well, actually a cup of coffee) to The Furkids! Hope yours bring you as much joy.

Love and gratitude attract love & gratitude. (Sign in a little restaurant in Louisiana)