It’s hard to say how much life, exactly, is in this room each night. There are a few souls here who’s presence I’d definitely miss if they were to choose alternate sleeping quarters. First, there’s my little brown and white, floppy eared dog, Huckleberry. He sleeps wherever I sleep, firmly pressed against me, no matter which way I turn. He’s a little heater, a blanket, a stuffed animal who breathes. He is relaxed and quiet and only responds to any affection he may receive. Other than that, he waits patiently beside me, content only to be near.
Then there’s the calico cat, Muffin. She comes in each night and goes out each day. As soon as she enters the house, she heads straight to her bowls of food and water. Fortunately they are adjacent to her basket, which is her next stop. There she curls up in a ball and sleeps the night away. She never makes a sound unless the bowl hasn’t been filled.
Finally, there’s the spider. He lives beside the cat. I only see him when I fill her bowl since he lives behind her basket. Sometimes I accidentally drop something on his web when I’m trying to throw something away in the trash bin beneath him. When I do, it shakes violently and I apologize for the disruption. So far he’s managed to hang on, despite my intrusions, and thank goodness I haven’t snapped his threads. He also gets along fine with Muffin. He traps any insect daring enough to come near her, or me, and for that he is greatly appreciated.
Oh and yes, there’s my husband, too. But I’ll have to describe him some other night.