I love my cats. I love my dogs.

I keep repeating this as I watch my cats wrestle on the futon and my dogs slide around the new hardwood floors. And while I wipe the fur off my brand new desk. (Also when my dog wakes me up at 2:30am for a drink of water.)

A long time ago I realized that I would never have Nice Things. That sounded fine to me, acceptable, the way of life. Now I have my own house, with newly refinished floors, and we slowly buy new furniture to replace the hand-me-downs and yard sale finds we have survived on for many years. And I think to myself, man, would it ever be nice to have Nice Things. I spend a few nights at my brother-in-law and sister-in-law’s house during the floor refinishing. Now they don’t really have all nice things, and they have an almost-two-year-old so there are toys everywhere, but there is no fur! The floors are shiny! No dog crates or gross bones! No half-ripped-apart cat tree!

But then I have a purring cat on my lap and a dog sleeping on the floor next to me. My lap and home would be very empty without them (and their fur).

::

First night back in our own bed. HEAVEN. It feels absolutely huge (it’s a king size). I can snuggle up to my husband for warmth, and then shuffle over to my own side of the bed. And my hips don’t ache.

Of course it’s 3:40am and the question remains… why aren’t I in said bed?