Hey there, awesome readers!
Some of you may know Jed because I share pictures of him on social. A lot. But in case you haven’t met him…
Say hello to Jed, the fur love of my life.
I still remember the first time I saw him. It was in a pet store (don’t judge me), and he was sitting with an eager look on his face in a cage the size of a dishwasher. I wasn’t looking to get a puppy that day. I was just picking up turtle food for my son. (To be clear, turtle food for my son’s turtle.)
But there he was, staring at me as though he was telepathically shouting, “Hey, you! Yes, you! Look how adorable I am! YOU NEED ME!”
And that was it. Within .0002 seconds, Jed managed to hijack my heart.
Here we are, 13 years later and according to the internet, Jed is now 82 years old in human years. So, you can imagine how much life we’ve been through together – from moves to breakups (mine, not his) and even celebrating a few milestones along the way. And I’ll say this about Jed: he’s the best listener I’ve ever had the pleasure of pouring my thoughts out to. In terms of personality, think momma’s boy in Akita/Lab clothing.
Old enough to be my dad, he’s basically a senior citizen still living at home. Try explaining that to people without sounding like a weirdo.
Sadly, I’m starting to see signs of aging – both his AND mine…
It takes him a little longer to lie down. I’m guessing his hips hurt. It takes me a little longer to stand up. No guessing there. It’s my knees.
Oh, but the mutual signs of aging don’t stop there.
We’re both a little greyer.
Our sleeping patterns have * cough * evolved. (He snores like a chainsaw. I get up to twinkle eleventy thousand times a night.)
We both walk into rooms carrying a big, fat question mark over our heads, thinking, “what did I come in here for again?”
These days, he’d rather watch the world from the back deck. I’d rather watch it from Netflix.
And we’ve both learned that comfort trumps fashion any day of the week. (Sweatpants, meet blankie on the floor by my bed.)
I never thought I’d say this but we’re basically aging like an old married couple. The only difference is he still thinks I’m perfect. As for him, his only fault is that he’s a professional shedder. (My vacuum cleaner does not feel neglected in the back of a closet corner. Instead, it’s always right there where I can trip over it.)
All that to say that love doesn’t always look like a grand gesture. Sometimes it’s just a furry shadow who insists on following you into the bathroom. Every. Single. Time.
And you know what?
I’m good with that.
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