Back before my Beloved and I were courting, I was house-sitting at a place where there were some fairly traumatized animals. Their people had gone away, and the first house-sitter turned out to be a bit [!] more flighty than had originally been anticipated….so the animals were lonely, neglected, having accidents, getting into fights with neighborhood bullies, and generally not coping well.
The first night I was taking over the task, I came to the house, and Word came along to share a meal — one that we’d prepare in the kitchen and eat in the dining room. It was a fairly mundane meal; I can’t exactly recall what we had. [There was certainly garlic involved!]
But the animals were very interested. People had not been using the kitchen for months. People had not come in at this time of day for a long time. So we were sniffed and strictly supervised. No begging, but lots of tail wagging, purring, and scampering from one room to the next, following us around.
People were in the kitchen, chopping and stirring, and moving through the rooms. People were stopping to praise and pet the animals. People were making sure there was water and food for the animals before serving themselves food.
I started a fire in the firebox and the animals soon curled up in their accustomed sleeping spots near the fireplace or on the couches. The message I got was: “You aren’t our people, but you are normal people!”
It was a rather restful evening for everyone, I think.
Tonight, I don’t think I’ll fire up the pellet stove [it needs to be cleaned out first, and checked by a sweep], but I might open the Beaujolais, and my Beloved and I can enjoy our meal [then I have to go grade papers…]
gotta love the pets!
Ah, beaujollais. Which I haven’t had in awhile. And never realized why I only had it in late November with Thanksgiving
at Todd’s. Because of course this is the season for beaujolais.
I should probably try it again.
Of course, having wine at Thanksgiving was so alien that I can’t be surprised that I missed that connection.