The Beings Of Life

“Well,” I announced to Charles as I clipped the bars of his pen shut with a resounding snap, “maybe you should have thought about this BEFORE you decided to be so wicked.”

Charles eyed me, suspiciously, from the “safety” of his litter box. He swayed - ever so slightly - from side to side as he attempted to gauge the risk of me committing the ultimate offense: The “rabbit pick-up.” I paid him no mind, continuing our very one-sided conversation.

“Yep,” I affirmed, cheerfully, “you are a wicked monFER and monFERS deserve to be locked up.”

As I moved to the kitchen I continued the chatter, becoming ever more inclusive, and began packing my workbag.

“Are you playing with your bag?” I inquired of Lulu, who was obviously playing with her bag. “That is SO SMART.” My affirmation seemed to – if anything – inspire derision. She paused, briefly, in the shredding of a paper grocery bag and gazed at me with her single eye. It can be difficult to understand the subtleties of rabbit communication, but I’m pretty sure she was – at that moment – questioning the human assertion of “superior species.”

I considered this, briefly, then – undaunted - shifted my attention to Juliet.

“You,” I announce to her sleeping form, “smell TERRIBLE. I HOPE that you are planning to take a bath before I come home.”

The chances of this, admittedly, were extraordinarily slim, for several reasons. These include: 1) I am the only human in residence, and I was leaving; 2) Juliet, being a dog, has never taken it upon herself to bathe without human intervention and is unlikely to do so at 13 years of age; 3) there is a 98% probability that she could not hear a word I was saying. I contemplated all of this, and realized my mistake: As the “leader” of the household I could not afford to lose face in front of the others, and I had now set forth a request that would be ignored. Quickly, I implemented ‘damage control.’

“You know what?” I queried of the still-sleeping canine. “I don’t trust you near the shower. You better wait for me to get home. Did you hear me? Do NOT touch the shower, or you will be in TROU-BLE.”

Pleased with my quick-thinking, I hoisted my bag unto my shoulder and stood in front of the door, surveying my domain. Lulu continued to dig at the paper bag, her bunny legs scratching furiously. Juliet, at last sensing movements indicative of an immediate departure, lifted her head to gaze mournfully at me. Charlie and Janie were reclined in their cage, deliberately conveying disinterest. Only the birds were talking: Their shrieks of protest escalated as they observed my position near the door.

“I want you ALL,” I pronounced, voice elevated so that each of the six inhabitants could hear, “To be GOOD today. I want you to THINK about your lives and HOW you could IMPROVE your little selves.”

I stressed key words for emphasis as I spoke, looking from feathered to furry faces in turn. “That’s right.” I turned and placed my hand on the door handle, preparing for the wrap-up. “You be good, and I’ll be back.”

As my hand turned on the handle, I launched into one of my favorite departure bits. “I’ll,” I announce in a voice several octaves below normal and in a thick, Austrian actor-turned-governor accent, “be BAAAAAAAAAACK.”

The last elongated syllable still hung – suspended - in the air as I opened my door to see the couple that lives across the hall - my neighbors - standing in the common area…clearly staring at my doorway. Quickly the male half of the duo turned away, mumbling an awkward “hello.” His girlfriend swiveled to busy herself with the lock on their door –gaze fixed, earnestly, upon the deadbolt.

Closing my door firmly behind me, I greeted them and smiled in what I hoped was a poised and nonchalant way. If only, I thought, this were the first time they overheard my “conversations”….they might just think I were drunk, or heavily medicated. Alas, I knew for a fact that it was NOT the first time they had overheard my interactions with my pets. An unfortunate reality of our condo complex is the ability to hear – from the common area – all sorts of sounds from within the individual condo units. Passing through, I frequently overheard conversations, music, television, vacuum cleaners… essentially, whatever activity was occurring within. I had also – on more than one occasion – opened my door to find my neighbors in the hall, on their way to or fro their own condo.

Now I moved quickly, slipping past my neighbors and down the stairs to make my escape out the front door. As I breathed in the late summer air, heavy with humidity, I reflected upon the version of “me” that must exist in my neighbors’ minds, and in how they would likely describe me to visitors or friends. To them, my defining qualities no doubt culminated in a title of “crazy pet lady” – a label enhanced by the correlating status of “single.” They might, I reflected, be on to something with the “crazy” part, and were definitely accurate in the current assessment of “single.” Still, there was nothing about either adjective that I feel – at this stage in my life – uncomfortable with. I am, I feel certain, exactly where I am meant to be – and am surrounded by the beings that I need to be with at this stage of my journey. Who am I to question the fact that the majority of them are less than 10 inches tall and sport fur or feathers? They are, after all, tolerant of my (relatively speaking) freakish height and baldness.

While the creatures that I share my life with may not hold up their end of a verbal conversation well, they hold up their end of a much more important exchange: They hold a space in which I am fully myself, and am accepted as such. Should I choose to gallivant about in my living room, cloaked in a Santa suit and eating ice cream (visual not based on actual events), it might cause a stir of alarm but it would not – in the least – affect the relationship that I have with my co-inhabitants. More importantly, the non-human beings in my charge hold a space in which THEY are fully themselves, and I am allowed to observe….and to learn. They are a gift, and one that I (being human) recognize only in brief moments.

These moments, I think, are worthy of pursuit. I endeavor to appreciate – always – everything that these creatures offer… but I am a bit too much of a realist for that. I acknowledge that there will be times that my perspective will be knocked askew – times that I will, for a while, forget the feathered and furred gifts that are patiently watching, waiting, for my return – but I also know that, in the end, “I’ll be BAAAAAAACK.”