One Week Tevaless
I knew he wouldn’t be there.
Of course I knew.
But I slept at my sister’s house last night and right before I went to bed, I peeked into Teva’s little nook in the dining room.
Until very recently, I’d find him there, pretending to sleep.
I’d plead with him to come down to the basement with me, but he’d totally give me the cold shoulder.
I had to plead with him because he’d start crying like a little Mary the SECOND I got under the covers and then I’d have to get up from the warm bed to open the basement door for him.
Sometimes, to eliminate that step, I’d drag his punk ass across the kitchen floor to the basement door, all the while defending myself, kung-fu style, against him trying to bite my hands off in rabid anger.
Rabid anger he’d let go of like a Buddhist as soon as he rushed down stairs to meet me by the edge of the bed with a rigorously wagging tail. Waiting for ear scratchies and kisses.
Well, I don’t know if he really dug my kisses but nevertheless, he must have gotten thirty-five million billion from me. Per week.
Which brings me to this: I’ve been asked how I’ve been doing since we had to put him to sleep.
Here’s the deal – the gratefulness I feel for having been able to give him so much love, especially when he got sick, overshadows the sadness. By far.
And I swear that’s not some spiritual, new age bullshit I’m trying to lay on you.
It’s solid truth. From the gut.
Maybe it’s just me, but loving unconditionally feels as good, if not better, than being loved.
thank you, as always, for reading these words I have chosen for you,
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