I leave one curtain open so she can look out into the night. I skip the downward dog because he’s stretched out on that end of the yoga mat. I sleep on one side of the bed so they can have the other. I do this because they ask for so little else: food, water, something fuzzy to sleep on.
I do it because I love them.
I’m talking, of course, about my cats. The truth is, my favorite part about love is how it disrupts your life. And of course, loving another person is even better. I love seeing a six-pack of a beer I’d never drink, sitting in the fridge. I love stopping to get groceries on the way home from work, with both our tastes in mind. I love not sleeping well… for various reasons.
We drop everything to comfort a friend who’s upset. We cherish the idiosyncrasies of loved ones: she won’t eat that if you put cheese on it, he always borrows a hat and never brings them back.
We have babies, the ultimate disruption, and consider them our greatest joy.
We try so hard to get things under control, work out a routine, work out the kinks. To get our lives in order. So why does it feel so good to have it all go to hell?