I am no saint and I fully admit it. Even though most people who know me say I’m one of the most upbeat, cheerful people they’ve ever run across, I’m chalk full of faults. I’m often stubborn, selfish, critical (of both myself and others), jealous, possessive, and lazy.
Physically I’m no prize either: I’m overweight, my poor legs are covered in cellulite (yes, the back and front of my thighs), I have yellowing teeth, blow my nose obnoxiously loudly, snore, my morning breath’s so ghastly it lingers well after I brush my teeth, and I’m still battling acne even into my thirties.
Yet, despite all my flaws, my pets adore me. They don’t care what I look like or how I smell. In fact, my morning breath interests Murph to no end! Admittedly, Mr. Meow gets a little put out when I sneeze (like my nose blowing, that can also be obnoxiously loud), but after he cusses at me for a second it’s forgotten and he only wants to be loved on again. And it seems the fatter I get the better. My lap just keeps growing into a comfy nook for Murph to rest his head on while I pet him, or for Tabby and Mr. Meow to curl up in.
Do you know how good this makes me feel on days when others only want to point out my shortcomings?
Never, not once in my life, have any of my pets (either past or present) snubbed me the way co-workers, fellow drivers, servers, tellers, clerks, friends, family, or even my husband sometimes has. Quite the contrary. On the days when it seems I can’t catch a break, do anything right, am insufficient or inadequate to the rest of the world, my pets remind me I’m their momma, they need me, but most importantly, they love me.
Regardless of my flaws. Regardless if I selfishly sleep in twenty minutes longer before getting up to feed them, clean out their litter boxes, and, in Murph’s case, walk him. Regardless if sometimes I cut walks short or don’t spend enough time petting them because deadlines loom or appointments await.
“It’s okay, Mom. We love you anyway. Get to us when you can.”
That’s what I’m always met with. I’m riddled with guilt whenever I catch myself taking them for granted because they are so patient, forgiving, and loyal to me.
All of me. Flaws and all.
People always say my pets are so lucky to have me because I rescued them, either from off the streets or from shelters, and gave them a good home. But I know this isn’t true.
I’m the lucky one. They rescued me. They constantly remind me it’s not what’s on the outside that counts, but what’s on the inside. And it’s because of them that our home is so good. They’re the ones filling it with the unconditional love that warms our hearts and nurtures our souls.
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