I'm with Her

Names aren't important.  I know of whom I speak, and you would too, had you ever met Her.  Does it really matter to which her I refer when she is not my Her?  Can you not tell the difference between you, I, he and she without a name?  Names are overrated: they try to define one without knowing who one is before the naming.  In this case, I am myself; you are yourself; and She, well she is home.

It all began very noisily.  A small room with a handfull of others who all looked very similar to myself, all of whom cried for attention whenever the guests came in.  My sibs and I weren't the healthiest, nor the cleanest, but we were definately cute.  At least, that's what the guests often said.

She came in: on a whim, She said.  She circled the room, cooing at the beautiful one on the other side, already promised to a good home.  When She came over to us, I knew She was a winner, even if my sister didn't.  The moment She said hello, I knew that I was going home.  She very nearly lost me in those first few moments: She hadn't brought proof of an address, or something of that nature: but then She found something, and I knew it was safe.  They sent me home with Her, and She gave me a place all my own.

Life wasn't perfect with Her, but it was far more ideal than before.  Her small home was more than enough for me, stunted as I was by the circumstances of my birth.  She played with me and hugged me, and despite Her locking me away for the night, I never once felt unwanted.  She fed me and cared for me, and soon I was as beautiful as she claimed.

She tried to socialise me too.  I think the first time I met another, I frightened Her though.  We are quite a match, She and I: very noisy and talkative.  My vocal displeasure at being introduced to HIM, and his potential to drag Her attention from me was evident.  I learned quickly that despite his presence, he would not distract Her from me, and I was relieved, though I never truely understood her need for me to have other companions. 

We moved around a great deal, and encountered many unusual individuals.  For a while I lived with her family and two others, while she visited.  I was glad when that ended: she belongs with me, and I belong with her.  Then we lived with someone who also had another.  It was quite awkward, as the other was intimidating: so large and domineering.  It was not until I realized how very passive his nature was that I was able to share the space with him. 

I always wondered about him, this overly large other.  He always wanted to be somewhere else.  Somewhere outside the home.  He gazed longingly out the windows, and yowled at the doors.  I never understood his yearning for the outside.  Here in there would always be food and affection, a warm bed and lots of toys.  What more could he want?

Now I live with Her sib and the young other who had lived with Her family.  She is an odd one, the other: quiet and a bit lazy, but easy to provoke into games.  We have wide spaces and bright windows; warm beds and high places; and most of all, we have our shes, and they have us.