This morning, I slipped her red "Beware of Dog" tee shirt over her head and tucked Butterbean underneath my jacket. We were going to make a comfort call.
My friend Scotty had lost his beloved cat, Cleopatra, over the weekend. I knew there was nothing I could do to help but I suspected that a day with Butterbean might be a comfort. He would bring her bed out onto the counter, share his cheeseburger with her at lunch and bring her a coffee drink on his break. She would jump into his arms at every opportunity and plaster him with kisses in between seeing old friends and making new ones. I hoped she would be a comfort to him as she is to me.
Her brown eyes lit up the minute she set eyes on him and when he called her name, she turned into a small bundle of quivering, wriggling, and squirming anticipation. In a matter of seconds, she had covered his neck, ears, and face with enthusiastic kisses and I became an afterthought. There's nothing quite like unconditional love to help a broken heart. I slipped out quietly, knowing that she might miss me for a few minutes but would quickly adapt. She was in a familiar and friendly place and I was leaving her in good hands.
It worked.
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