I set up a canvas chair in my back yard, but before I can turn around and sit down, my cat has leaped into it. I could remove Rosie, of course, but if you’re a pet owner you know what I do. I get another chair and we sit side-by-side for an hour in the sun.
It’s a long list, the ways in which I try to meet Rosie’s needs. I think about the various places she likes to sleep and count five chairs, two beds, a tall stool, and a small cushion. When she arrived nine years ago, Rosie was so shy she stayed under the bed. Now she acts like she owns the place.
I celebrate her confidence and accommodate her preferences. Lately, I also underwrite her special needs. Like expensive prescription cat food, to ease her urinary problems. Whatever it takes.
If I was able to survey Rosie, however, it’s likely that she would have her own list of adjustments that she makes for me. My arbitrary rules about playing with houseplants, for example. My absurd need to change clothes, shoes, jackets before we can go outside together. The limits I place on catnip treats.
Probably it evens out, this give and take. At least this afternoon, keeping each other company in two canvas chairs.
