Family

I’m 2000 miles from family. My solution was to get a roommate.

Chowder entered my life at twelve weeks old, and nothing has been ordinary since. Living alone in a New York high-rise, nearly two thousand miles from my family, that oversized fluff ball became my closest companion. Three years later, I finally planned a trip home to visit my parents and two brothers.
The only problem was deciding which clothes to pack. Spring there was unpredictable. One day called for sunglasses, the next demanded snow boots.
“I’ll pack later,” I muttered. “Right now I’m reading my mystery book.”
I barely finished the sentence before Chowder wedged himself between me and the pages like a furry bookmark.
“Do you mind?” I laughed. “I’m trying to read, you big ball of fur!”
His tail smacked the couch. Clearly I had committed the unforgivable crime of ignoring his chin. I tapped his head.
“You stinker.”
I tried again.
“Detective Higgins peered over the wall and discovered…”
WHAP!
Chowder slammed the book shut with one determined paw.
“Fine! You win.”
I nudged him aside. He answered with his dramatic little grunt, sounding like a tiny bear filing a formal complaint. I burst out laughing.
Later I packed, dropped him at Patty’s Pet Hotel, and cried all the way to the airport in the taxi. Every single day I called to check on him. The vacation was wonderful, but I missed my ridiculous roommate more than I expected.
When I returned, I hugged Chowder so tightly I thought he might pop. He responded by grunting, licking my nose, and immediately demanding dinner, proving he was willing to forgive as long as he got fed.
The next trip home, Chowder came with me.
After all, family doesn’t always walk on two legs. Sometimes it sheds everywhere instead.