Two days before Christmas, I pulled my car into the driveway of William's house. Our house. I stepped out of the car, clutching a pet carrier with Spencer mewling inside. The two of us, feline and human, slightly stunned.
This felt like my five-hundredth move in a lifetime of moves, from western Canada to eastern Canada to New York City to Los Angeles. In each location, I'd set up a new living habitat from scratch. Packing, unpacking, signing leases and renting moving trucks. By this point, I'd lived in six places over thirteen years. I was sick and bored with the moving thing. Would this be the restful home I longed for?
William and his dog, a mutt named Stinky, waited in front of the newly painted front door. I'd chosen a dark red for the door. An auspicious color in the Chinese culture.
Welcome home, William said.
And we were. Spencer scurried, fur on end, from one corner to another. Stinky tried his best to sniff the cat's bum. William and I were locked in an embrace. Together. In our house.
Sidebar: the dog's name. When I took Stinky to the dog park, I would often disguise his name by shouting, "Inky! Inky!" Because when I called "Stinky," the strange glances shot my way were intolerable. William had adopted his pup from a shelter months before we met. He lifted the name "Stinky" from a comic book. What can I say? The dog believes his name is a term of endearment, and so it has become one in our home.
On the day Spencer and I moved in, Stinky matured from a puppy to an avuncular presence with the cat. He was nervous and, truth be told, afraid of the cat. One butt-sniff too many resulted in a good bat from Spencer's paw, but the two pets would make their way, over time, to a peaceable kingdom.
William grew to adore Spencer as much as he did Stinky and, believe me, his love for that dog competed with his love for me. Adjusting to a mixed-pet household was not without stumbles and scratches, barks and screeches, but we were determined to make it work. That Christmas, four stockings hung from the mantle.
The house renovation had lasted two months. We added space and color. I tore down the blinds and light filled the previously darkened rooms.
People will see, William said.
No they won't, I assured, and if they do, they won't care. Nobody cares about our business.
The contractor had created an archway connecting the dining room to a den area that led out to double French doors and our new redwood deck.
See, William, when people come over, they'll walk through here, pick up drinks and gather outside for appetizers on the deck. Then back inside to the dining room for dinner. Neat, huh?
What people?
Oh, people.
Who?
You'll see.
No comments:
Post a Comment