I’ve been divorced for eleven years, and save a “thing” here and there – one or two more meaningful than others, I’ve been happily single all the while. Over the years, particularly due to my high aerobic job, my days outside of work have found me as an introverted extrovert – blithely composing a dossier of bingeable shows and profound reads to recommend as I hung out in my house with my cat.

Sometimes life can be lonely, but overwhelmingly the opposite is true. Turns out I like being alone, I like hanging out with me, I’m alright.  

That said, until last summer I’ve never not had an animal who ran to the door to greet me after a long day, or cuddled up on my pillow each night, or woke me up for breakfast at 6 am by bopping me on the nose repeatedly with soft paws. But after taking the difficult step of putting my 18-year-old cat to sleep, I decided to wait awhile to add a new fur baby to my nest. I was off to Australia for a month and was not willing to acclimate a new family member to life without me. So I waited. And life became very sad and empty – especially for someone who was passing out drunk pretty much every day.

So when I returned stateside I decided it was time to adopt a new family member. Fiona was a rambunctious two-month-old spitfire brought into the Oregon Humane Society from Boise, Idaho the previous week. An American medium-hair Tortie, the kitten I would come to name Beatrix, was well endowed with the famous “tortitude” her breed is known for, and I fell in love with her immediately. 

Beatrix. Bea. Queen Bea. Trixie. Miss Trix. Shitstain. You-Da-Ho.

It’s funny how an animal can change your life. Trixie has brought me laughter, learning and love – and I wasn’t even going for alliteration here, these are just truths! She is a constant source of entertainment in my home, her curiosity bringing continuous exploration in higher spaces as her confidence grows, often resulting in something falling to the floor – herself a time or two. She’s a voracious eater, a stinky shitter, and a constant zoomer. And she has brought me so much joy. 

Next to my cat, my car Wilma is my BFF. Now I know that sounds weird but like Trix she’s seen me at my best and most certainly at my worst. She’s a safe space where I can be honest with my emotions. I’ve laughed until I’ve cried, I’ve sobbed uncontrollably in hurt, and I’ve pounded on her dashboard a time or two in anger. She’s taken me away and she’s carried me home. And I’ve sang out of key at the top of my lungs and Wilma didn’t judge me, not one bit. 

Seems appropriate, then, that I’m off for a new start with my two besties, Trixie & Wilma,  enjoying being together and adventuring out on the road. And in the end, I believe love and experiences are what it’s all about. Unless, and hear me out here, it really is all about the hokey pokey. And if that’s the case? Seems we figured it all out years ago.