Our Everything

I spot her a block up ahead of me. A small red-clad figure coming toward me? Or away from me? It’s hard to tell. My strategy for walking depends on this projected direction. If coming toward me, then I’ll definitely cross the street to avoid contact. If going the same direction as I am, well then it depends on the speed. I could catch up if the person is slow-moving. And then, I’d have to cross the street anyway.

            Ugh. I am so sick of it. All the effort it takes to avoid contact. Not that I’m big on contact in the first place. I am not one to frequent crowded situations: concerts, (unless it’s Trifovov playing Rachmaninoff with the SF symphony); shopping venues (I have to go to Safeway every week, but I’ve always loathed it); elevators (don’t even get me started on being trapped in a jammed elevator!). So, when I have to maintain my distance from people during this pandemic, I mostly am okay with it.

            Still…it’s exhausting. Having to analyze your next move to avoid people.

            Now I see I’m gaining on the red clad figure. It’s small and hunched over with bright orange yellow hair. A dye job gone bad. Is it Mrs. Claus?

            I’m going to just call her that. I’m distracted for a moment by a swooping sparrow, landing in a tidy little bush with pink flowers. It chirps and rustles in the bush, busy with its bird day. I glance back up the street. See Mrs. Claus has disappeared. Where’d she go? Off to make some cookies? Wrap some gifts? Wake up Santa?

            Nope, she’s just in the driveway of one of the nondescript homes of 32^nd street. A dead lawn as the front yard, the trees sad sticks, leafless in the pale December morning light, the house itself a boring grey or beige paint job.

            “C’mere you!” I hear her call out as she squats down to peer under a parked car.

            The Tabby scurries away, its eyes bright with terror. I’d be scared too if Mrs. Claus was calling for me and all I wanted to do was hang out, groom my ears, watch the birds.

            I wave, smile, laugh a little.

            “He’s a Scaredy Cat!” Mrs. Claus announces.

            “Yes, well, he’ll come back,” I assure her, not sure at all that this will be the case as the cat takes off for the house next door.

            Is it her cat? Or the neighbor’s cat? Or actually, as all of us cat owners know, he is his own cat!

            Unlike dogs. They belong to their humans. The other morning, I ran into Evie and Nash, the two I’d announced Biden and Harris’ victory to last month.

            “How ya doin’, Sweetie?” Evie calls out, friendly as ever. She stops for a moment, socially distanced, of course, to chat. I love it that she calls me Sweetie!

            “I’m okay,” I grin, glancing at Nash with his muzzle on. He looks miserable. But he’ll put up with it for her. Dogs. They live to please their owners, right? Or at least this is the general consensus. I smile at the dog, “He’s so cute,” I lie, not telling her how he really looks miserable.

            “Yeah, he is,” she says, bending down to give him a big side rib rub. The dog responds with a weak tail wag. “Our animals are Our Everything!” she proclaims.

            “Oh, yeah,” I agree. “Even when they are little terrors. I have a cat at home who is a menace!”

            She chuckles. “Me too! Nash and I have to get out of the house and take a walk just to get some peace from her!”

            We both laugh, “Yes, well, I understand. Even though pets are our everything, sometimes we need a break!”

            “Ain’t that the truth!” she chuckles, starting to walk on. Nash turns his head to watch me, mournfully eyeing my start in the opposite direction. Or am I just anthropomorphizing? Maybe he just wants me to pet him or talk to him or play with him? Somehow, he doesn’t look up for play time.

            “Have a great day,” I call after her.

            “You too, Sweetie, you too,” she answers, pulling out her phone and beginning to scroll.

            I could write about the phone scrolling phenomenon on walks, but that’s another story. Today it’s all about the animals. And it’s true. Where would we be without them?

            Very lonely. Very bored. And dare I say, very purposeless?

            Yes. It’s true. And while caring for an animal isn’t life’s only purpose. It’s one of the more joyful purposes of life.

            Besides walking.

            And writing.

            And swimming.

            And….?

            You fill in the blank. What gives you joy? Purpose? In this pandemic, it’s often easy to forget the little things that keep us going.

            I press on, turn the corner at McBryde and march up the street, another busy bird swooping in front of me, landing on a branch, and taking up song.