Without a doubt, one of the hardest things about being far, far away from home is missing my boys. While The Electrician and I were overseas, Sherman stayed at the kennel, and Leroy hung out at the dollhouse, with regular visits from my bestie Miss Sassy and her boyfriend, Comic Book Fan.
Before I had the deadbolt off the front door on Friday, I could hear Leroy chirping in the living room. When he saw me in the front entry, he began purring so vigorously that he couldn’t close his mouth. After he tried to climb our pantlegs, The Electrician scooped him up to give him a little love. Leroy was beside himself with joy. He drooled great ropes of kitty slobber, punctuated with big bubbles that expanded and shrunk with his breathing. I tried to get a photo of the saliva situation, but as soon as I got close enough with the camera to sneak a shot of him, Leroy attempted to leap into my arms. Given that it had been the better part of a month since his last nail clip, and considering The Electrician prefers his nipples unpunctured, I backed away slowly and put my Canon back in its case.
Leroy is a bit like a honey cruller: he’s sweet as heck but lacks substance. He’s the air-filled pastry of the dollhouse. As excited as he was to have me home, he seemed to forget I was back off and on for the first day and a half. I got up in the middle of the night to pee, and he came galloping into the bathroom with the most incredulous look on his face, like, “Where did you come from! I’m so glad you’re here!” He then purred so hard I was worried about the vibrations breaking his ribs.
Sherman was no less overjoyed to see me. When we picked him up at the kennel Saturday morning, after retrieving our “lost” luggage that took an additional excursion somewhere in Germany, the speckled one nearly wagged his tail off. The kennel worker went into his run with “his” leash and apparently Sherman came unglued. He must have put the clues together and realized I was there to get him, and he would not hold still long enough for the poor girl to buckle his Halti. In the front office, he just put his head on my shoulder when I crouched to scratch his soft ears; then he closed his eyes and sighed. I guess being away from his momma for seventeen days made our reunion extra goopy for him.
He’s been like my shadow since we’ve gotten home. In fact, here he is now.
Yesterday, after his first night at home since the trip, I heard Sherman wake up shortly after I rolled over wide awake (at four freaking thirty, thank you jet lag). The poor guy did that thing where a person wakes up with a start and is completely confused about where he is. The reason I heard him jolt awake is that he sprung to his feet, and, as he sometimes does, he had decided to sleep in my closet that night: the whole thing was bewildering to poor Sherm. Imagine 70 spotted pounds thrashing around in a clothes closet in the dark, hangers rattling away and the laundry basket banging against the wall. Eventually, he figured it out, exited through the open closet door, and trotted over to lay his head beside my pillow.
While Leroy and Sherman are generally very friendly toward one another, their reunion has been a particularly joyful one. I’ve been feeding Leroy extra hairball relief grease and trying to keep his intestinal stress to a minimum, but they won’t stop licking each other. I keep finding them snuggled together in Sherman’s chair, snoring violently.
It is true that it’s always a blessing to come home to the ones who love you. My welcoming committee just happens to dine on kibble and always have their temperatures taken in the “personal” manner.
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