Friday, July 15, 2016

7-15: On This Day

It doesn't matter what's happening in the world. Or even what's happening in the other room.
If you walk past the refrigerator, she will hear you and she will come running. She wants ice.

She's an ice addict and her hunger (thirst?) for it cannot be slaked.

It's a relief, really. A tiny bit of normalcy when it seems the whole world has gone crazy. She doesn't see it. Her world is small. All she wants is ice. Oh, and also a good scratch on that weird divot above her tail.

I can give her that.

I can't give her a world that makes sense. I can't make sense of what I see and hear every day. I don't understand it. But she's my mediation, a reminder, a safe place for my fears. She lets me know that small kindnesses add up. That connection and community is good and necessary. She brings me back to my small world, where I can try to offer comfort, love, and hope for a better tomorrow.

Which, for her? Includes ice.

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