My roommate, Stephanie, is setting down bowls of kibble for Onyx and Ghost. She looks up and smiles brightly, her face glowing in a radiance that hasn’t dimmed over the past eight months. Her fiancé, Ken, spent the night, but has already gone to work his shift at the fire hall. “Starve the devil beasts,” I say, but rumple Onyx on her black head. I don’t dare touch Ghost while he’s eating or I’ll end up with a handful of claws. As big a pain as they can sometimes be, I love these two pets as much as if they were my own. My ‘niece’ and ‘nephew’ — a black Labrador retriever and long hair something or other cat, both five months old, gifts to Stephanie from Ken, her fiancé. “Oh no, did they wake you up again? You really need to shut your door.” Before I can respond with a wise ass remark, she flips the switch to the blender and our morning green smoothies whir to life. Stephanie wiggles her eyebrows at me. I wiggle mine back. We know each other too well. She’s way too polite to tell me to shut up.
