Used To It

 So there are those who knew me when I would never have imagined that I would allow a cat in my house. Then I got married. And I moved to California where many of the strictures and regulations that kept me and the pets around me shifted. My wife was an equal opportunity employer. She encouraged us to board a few different dogs and cats when friends and relatives found us as a place for their dogs and cats to hang out while they vacationed. Dagwood the dog and Max the cat were two visitors back in those days. As was my way back then, I connected immediately with Dagwood, while the time Max spent with me was limited primarily to cautious glances across the room. By both of us. 

I will confess some vague antipathy for the feline, highlighted in the Age of Maddie.Maddie was the dog we adopted when our son was still fresh and new. We raised them together, and Maddie was our doggie daughter. And one of the things she loved to do was chase the gray feral cat who would periodically creep into our yard. Much to the delight of our son, and the the everlasting dismay of my wife. 

Fast forward a decade and a half, when karma was served by the coincidence of that same gray cat coming to live with us while he rehabbed from having all his teeth removed. Maddie was sent to her eternal rest, so we had room. One day, that gray feral cat came sauntering out to our livng room like he owned the place. Because somewhere in the rehabilitation process Fluffy, as he became to be known, had become a part of the family. He had found a spot on our couch. 

And eventually into our bed. Now I am regularly awakened by a kitty paw on my forearm or forehead. It's time to begin another day. Another day with a cat in our house. 

And I don't mind.