I have been thinking a lot about pets lately. I think that having a creature around to love up and entertain us would do great things for our hearts. Me, as my son grows daily beyond me, needs a new baby to love up. And sonshine of mine, I think could do with a little someone else to love and be loved by.
That being said, my bank account echos with the stark reality that we just can’t afford a pet right now. My son isn’t even really eager to have one, although I know once we have our own furry friend, he will be in love with him, or her. So we agree, if a pet comes our way, we are open to it. In the mean time, we can hang out with our friends animals, and stalk the birds and squirrels of the neighbourhood. We have already named a few of the regulars.
And then the dreams. I have been dreaming about old pets. The dog of my childhood, my first true best friend. Or the little scrawny black cat I dreamt of rescuing, who closely resembled any number of animals we have lived with.
And then there is a knock on the door, and a friendly neighbour asks if we could baby sit her little guy for a night and day. And now I am giggling at the orange and white kitty who is scrambling all over in what seems like random missions to over take the household. And we are in love and already secretly hoping they just won’t come back for him.