The Little Pack

… are my favorite. We sleep in, well, actually, I should clarify. We attempt to sleep in. Like clockwork, Cheyenne and Dixie are ready to roll around 7, sometimes 7:30. We argue over whose turn it is to deal with them, take them out and try to keep sleeping. However. They have other ideas. Before we know it, we are grudgingly getting out of bed, making coffee and trying to wake up. Soon we are drinking coffee, chatting, surfing, and hanging out with the whole pack. Cheyenne and Dixie are in and out, in and out. Dixie is soon woofing for food. Jackson is bringing me a toy. But it is a nice reprieve from the week.

I love coming home to all my animals. Sometimes I can see Cheyenne’s silhouette from a half mile away, her ears visible even at that distance. Sometimes Jackson is in the yard. When he sees me he rejoices, and takes a wide lap around my car. He runs around to the driver’s side door and I open the door and he sails into the car, over my lap and lands in the passenger seat, tail a-wagging and we drive into the garage. I am greeted with barks and yips and a cacophony of celebratory sounds from the other side of the door. “Hold your horses, I’m coming!!” I say. As soon as I open the door, there are more tails wags, hops, kisses and wiggles and regardless of my mood, it is absolutely impossible not to feel joy at this welcome. The cats soon seem to appear out of thin air, weaving in and out of the dog’s limbs, looking up at me with their sweet faces and it is in these moments that I realize how blessed I am.

Mornings are a special time in the Little Pack household, packed full of sweetness and celebration. IO very often greets me with nose nibbles and headrolls. These are clearly joyful acts. Once I start to stir, Jackson and IO will often begin to bark and carry on with celebration while Cheyenne races back and forth next to the bed, wiggling all the while. Archie waits at the bedroom door and purrs the moment he sees me.  Everyone races down the hallway. Baby Titten sits on the arm of the couch and burrupts as I walk by and I pat her on the head. Dixie speeds ahead into the kitchen and leaps and twirls around, woofing. She wants  a morning snack. Archie also gallops into the kitchen, bounds up onto the counter and waits by the sink for me to turn his water on. Meanwhile Jack rejoices that he found his favorite toy and asks me to throw it. Sometimes IO lingers in bed a little longer, catching a few more zzzzs before strolling out to the living room to wait for a few last bites of my breakfast.  All of this takes place while I am on autopilot, still in stupor. I am not a morning person, in fact, I can barely function when I first wake up. It occurs to me just how sweet these waking hours are, and how ironic that it all takes place while I am still too unconscious to fully treasure and savor each moment the way that I would like to.

1. He greets me each and every morning. And if I sleep in too long, he cries… and if I still sleep in too long he begins to knock things over. And if I still sleep too long he races sideways through the house making a “greowl” sound: half growl, half meow. OK, so most of this behavior is actually kind of obnoxious. But all of these actions are rooted in his love for me and so I just find them all the more endearing.
2. His purr-coos.
3. His soft, soft fur.
4. The way he waits for me at the screen door every single time I take the dogs out. Awww. Sweet.
5. That he likes his belly rubbed.
6. The way he sleeps on his back with all four paws in the air.
7. His little games: whether he has a mouse toy, a bottle cap, or a paper clip, we are talking about hours of endless entertainment.
8. The way he plays in the running water in the sink and the fact that he only likes the way I turn it on. He literally snubs the faucet when my husband attempts to turn on the water for him.
9. That he comes when I call him and follows me around the house like a dog.
10. His big, round eyes and his absolutely meek innocence. He embodies a sweetness that is impossible to describe.

Since his haircut, we have started calling Archie “Boots” and this picture illustrates why. At 17 pounds now, he has come a long way since the early days. As a baby, Archie personified sweetness in a little ball of fur. So tiny, with baby fine fur and the tiniest paws. He slept on my neck, and would put his little paw on my nose. Perhaps I was snoring, I don’t really understand it. The fur on his paw would tickle my nose and wake me up. This was the beginning of his “purr-coos”: purrs so loud and content, it sounds as though he is cooing.