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I’ve always loved animals. I should clarify: I’ve always loved other people’s animals. Those I didn’t have to feed, walk, or clean up after. Anytime I dreamed about throwing the Frisbee with my hypothetical yellow lab at the park, my next vision was of me walking Wilson (his codename!) on snowy, windy, miserable January mornings. Or of me holding a plastic bag filled with Wilson’s poop.
I much prefer sleeping in on cold mornings. And not carrying dog poop. Not to mention the barking. Shut up already, Wilson!
So I remained pet-less. That changed last fall when I met 5-week-old Pixie, a stray kitten my kids fell in love with. Pix is everything cats aren’t supposed to be: social, affectionate, and whip smart. In other words, she’s the dog I never thought I’d have. After a long day at work, she inevitable jumps in my lap and starts purring. I find myself confiding in her. At first, this felt crazy. Now it feels good.
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