Today seems like a good day to post a picture of my coffee because I got up too early. Having just returned from a long walk with wolfie down still-misty paths and wet grass, I've decided to wrap myself in a blanket and hunker down until I wake up a little more. Moonshadow, my old black cat comes in with a loud, gravel-ly voice to tell me he's thinking about spending some time with me. I love the way he feels the need to make an announcement out of it. Viscosa, the little cat, just squirms her way into wherever she wants to be--silently, determinedly. I'm surrounded by cats. Wolfie sleeps outside. She's the only thing that's missing, but she attacks the cats and has therefore been banished to be an outside dog. I miss having a dog laying on the floor next to me as I type. I miss Abe and the huffing dream noises he used to make, one paw moving across the hardwood floor as he ran along in doggie-dreamland. Actually, I miss everything about him.
There are some days when I feel a sense of impending loss...for really no reason at all. As wolfie and I walked: Every time she looks at me I tell her I love her. I realize, for the millionth time, that I don't know what I'd do without her. The idea of something ever happening sends me off on thoughts of being stranded, alone, with no dog to save me from myself or the world. But she's healthy. There's no reason for the direction my mind keeps taking. I want to go camping up north for a couple of days, just the two of us, so that she can run off of her leash. She needs a good bout of gopher hunting. I need a good bout of books. As we walk, I watch her and find myself wanting to wrap my arms around her in an attempt to memorize how good she feels--her fur, her smell, her love. But it's like trying to memorize the sky: impossible. Anyway, she's happy sniffing out the scent of a deer or another dog. She doesn't need a hug just now. She's happy with dirt and air and grass alone.
I want cold days and a fire in the fireplace. I want three dogs and three cats (all inside), another cup of coffee and a good book. I want to be surrounded by warmth and love, to fill my life up so full that it threatens to burst. But that's just it, that is what my life is right now: full to the point of bursting. It causes me to want to pull everything in just a little bit closer. I want to wrap my arms around all of it and hold on to it like this forever. But I can't. I know that. There are only moments. And maybe that's why I write: an attempt to place my life safely on paper so that nothing will be lost forever.