A dish of pearl necklaces lays on the floor in pieces. A plant is overturned, the bed clothes in disarray, a lamp is leaning against the wall, several framed pictures are missing and there are forty seven open windows on my computer. Sitting amid this destruction, looking wide eyed and innocent and a little proud of themselves, are the two youngest cats.
My mother liked to tell me there would be no supper if I didn't clean up my room and I have a sudden urge to repeat this threat, vain though it would be. So who won? I ask instead and they meow in unison, jump off the bed and trot to the kitchen. Must've been a draw, I tell the small brown dog who is anxiously whining at my ankles, reminding me that she had nothing to do with this minor disaster and that she's hungry. The black dog joins in and soon there is a chorus of barking and meowing echoing all through the house. It's seven against one and pointless to argue.
It's on days like this when I wonder how normal people live. I imagine walking through the front door and finding the house in the same condition as when I left - being able to kick off my shoes and watch the news, fix myself a quiet dinner and eat without fending off animals, go through the mail in peace, have a bed to myself. There would be no territorial arbitration sessions, no time outs, no breaking up disputes, no scoldings or reprimands, no litter boxes to change daily. If they weren't being nibbled on, plants would thrive. Earrings would stay paired. Eye glasses and bridgework and lipsticks would be safe from being turned into chew toys. Pizza might be even be delivered without a battle plan to insure the safety of the driver. I would, I suspect, be bored, lonely and more than a little unfulfilled - there would be too much empty space and too little warmth in a house without animals.
Life is meant to be shared, if not with the same species then with another.
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