A car pulled up to the curb Christmas Day. I was tersely commanded, "Don't look!". Tallulah was being delivered, my gift from my daughter Tayler. Lulah, as she's now known, was a quivering mass. The hype surrounding her arrival was momentous. I later learned she had been rescued from behind Guadalajara, a local Mexican restaurant. Supposedly her Mother still lives there.
The day I put the hot-pink-diamond-collar-with-the-bell around her neck would have won me $10,000.00 on America's Funniest Home Videos. Had I owned a camcorder. She flipped, pawed, and climbed for two solid hours. An audition to Cirque de Soleil would have been a shoo-in. It was priceless. Tears poured I laughed so hard.
Each time I arrive home, she's peering out the French door. There is a large, circular, green, shag rug 3 feet inside the back door. She prisses to the rug and promptly rolls onto her back, legs into the air, for me to scratch her belly. She needs me.
6 am-ish, I shot straight up in bed at the crashing sound, and immediate pouring water. The above two dozen roses in the goldfish vase had been knocked over. And it was sitting on the vanity at the foot of my bed. Yes, water was pouring down the foot of my bed with a slight puddle on the blanket across the foot. (The blanket had Scotchguard as I easily swiped the water away. Oh, and the car is a dream I hope to realize one day, only in convertible form.) I righted the vase, the accident not being her fault totally. It was top heavy.
She's become an important part of my world. I can't imagine coming home and her not being here. Me not getting to scratch that sweet little belly.
She needs me.