But, they are such sweet babies, that I let them in, pretty much whenever they like. I think that my door has been continuously open to them for the past several weeks. It is nice for them, although I must confess that having them there, all snugly and warm and fuzzy is a way for me to improve my own moods lately. We must have reached critical mass in the dander/saliva/hair realm some time ago. They should be out. They should stay out. Then, I see them there, curled up in the little cozy spaces they have made in the bedclothes and I just cannot deny them, and myself, the pleasure of their company and the quiet rest they find there during the day.
The love of these, two, sweet creatures gives me hope in a kind and loving Universe, the place where I believe that I live. It is difficult to hold onto that belief some days, which is one of the reasons that I avoid newspapers and the news on radio. Just too much damn sadness about which I can do nothing.
Those guys, the furry babies have a small life. Their universe is this house and the occasional visit to the vet. Their food is nutritious, but not very varied because of their health issues. They have toys and people to amuse them. They have plenty of bird feeders situated near comfy window seats.
Their world in tiny, like really small. And, they are O.K. with that. I mean, what choice do they have? It is all they have known, except for part of their kitten-hood on the streets. I wonder, sometimes, what they think about what they have. If they have needs I am not meeting. Wants, with no way to express them.
No way to know for sure, so I do my best. So, the bed.
|AKA Puddin' Boy|