Some days, when I return home from work, I expect my Alex to be watching for me from the window beside the front door. I think Lydia will be wagging her whole body in excitement to greet me when I open the garage door.
We had to put Lydia down a little over two years ago, a terminal cancer invading her leg beyond any control, and we lost Alex a year later when, at 18, his organs began shutting down. They both lived long, pampered lives, so I’m grateful for the time I had, but I miss them.
I miss their companionship. I miss Lydia acting as a foot warmer when she lay near me when I watched a movie. I miss Alex keeping me company while I crocheted or read. I want to bury my face in Lydia’s furry, curly neck as I hug her.
When I was in college, somehow Lydia knew when I’d be home for a weekend visit; my mom tells me that Lydia would go stand by the door about 15-20 minutes before I’d arrive home, even if I’d been gone for several weeks.
My pets taught me about companionship. About responsibility. About the ability to relieve stress through the stroking of a purring cat. Pets are friends. And while the time isn’t right for me to add a new furry friend at the moment, I look forward to the day I can add a new cat or dog to my home.