A couple months ago, a friend of mine had a baby. To be clear, she still has a baby – now it is on the outside. I offered to bring her coffee today, as well as some adult conversation and some admiration for the little person she made.

And scritchy fingers for her two large, wooly dogs.

Guinness and Woody were very excited that somebody came to see them for a change. I sat down on the floor and let them walk all over me. I petted. I rubbed. I scritched.

And they licked.

I have very few rules in my life:
Don’t hurt people on purpose.
Don’t tell big lies for small things.
Let the past go.
Believe in positive motives in others.
Don’t kiss dogs.

When I got home, Oliver met me at the door. He was horrified. I smelled DISGUSTING. He called Obi over and they started a full cat scan. Oliver demanded to be picked up so he could sniff my arms and shoulders and hands. Obi was checking out my feet and my knees and standing on tiptoe to smell my back pockets. Eventually, I sat down on the couch to make things easier.

Oliver became more grossed out with every sniff. I smelled like dog everywhere he’d checked.

Then he looked me in the eye.

It was the moment of truth.

He sniffed my face. The grey kittens nose scanned my chin. My cheeks. My nose. My forehead, my eyelids. Not a trace of puppy.

“I don’t kiss dogs,” I said.

Well, okay then. I passed inspection and all was forgiven. Oliver plunked down in my arms and started to purr while Obi went to demand his belly rub from The Boy.

And I’ve taken a shower so I’ll be allowed into bed tonight.


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