I was at my parents' house the other day, feeling sad. Just laying in my old bedroom, wondering where the good had gone. And suddenly, well, some good came in and jumped right into bed with me.
Monday, November 23, 2009
A pure, slobbery, tongue-lolling faithful friend.
Not usually allowed in beds, he was pleased as punch to be in one with me.
And we lay there.
His great big furry bulk pressed up against my body. His whiskers tickling my cheeks. The steady rise and fall of his rib cage just calm and consistent, blessedly consistent right now. And I didn't feel better, but I felt alive. I felt like his fur was real, and that was nice. I could press my palms against his spine and know that I was real too. And when his tail wagged it was good. Pure, even. I didn't see a lot of reasons for it necessarily, but maybe his reason for wagging his tail was me.
And maybe that's enough.
And maybe I actually got him to wear a hat and stay still long enough to pose for a picture too.