There she is, a tiny little package sitting on the kitchen floor. It is morning and her hair is all tumbled and reaching. She is tapping the floor, calling our equally tiny dog, Micro. Micro is a very hyper critter and spends a lot of time running around in manic circles. But in the morning she is usually calm, expanding herself with her front paws on the floor, her butt high behind her. She eases over to E and sits in the little space created by E’s crossed legs. She offers E her wide-open neck for a massage. She adores E and the feeling is mutual. They are both settled and quiet. Cozy.
“Look at you two. Twins,” I tell her. Micro is fluffy, matching E’s morning bed-head. Both are light and slight. There is something about them that truly seems the same.
“You are such yummy girls.”
That is the wrong thing to say. I know it the second it flies out of my mouth and I offer a gentle “sorry.” There was a time when E would have shot me the death stare upon making that mistake. Her rage would have flown out her eyeballs, scaring and shaming me. But today she looks at me as if to say, “Really, mom? That rookie error again?”
“Did you ever think that maybe Micro is like me?” she asks.
Nope, I never did. There are a million things that I have never thought about and never had to think about until now. But there it is. Another thought out of left field landing on my kitchen floor.
“You know, maybe she is.”