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| This is Tony, at 3 months old |
So, a man and his cat aren't something I even want to imagine. But I did, of course, when I read this essay. He tells us that his cat is dead now, and talks about how goofy he was about his cat. Now, this is something I can identify with. I always thought that Tony was my dog. He came into the family a week before my mother found out that she was pregnant (with me, but she didn't know that then). She always said that if she had known, she would have said no to getting a puppy, no matter how much the four kids she already had carried on. I'm glad that didn't happen, because Tony and I were pretty close. He was a Pomeranian, a little guy with a big-dog attitude. We never put him in a purse or dressed him up (well, one time I did, but I never told anyone before), but he did have his own car seat with a seat belt.
I miss my mom almost every day, but I also miss Tony at least once a week. The great thing about a dog is that when you come home, he will be so happy to see you that no matter how bad your day was, you will be happy, too. When I have one of those days, I can't help looking for him when I open the door, even though it makes me feel worse.
