A few nights later, I posted a picture of them.
Nothing fancy.
Just Weston on the couch after his dental, looking like a tired boxer after twelve rounds, with Louie pressed against him so tightly he seemed determined to help heal through proximity alone.
I wrote a few lines about going to adopt one cat and leaving with two because one had wrapped himself around his brother and refused to let go.
I wrote about the vet visit.
I wrote that some bonds are not optional just because they complicate the budget.
Then I put my phone down and made dinner.
By bedtime, the post had spread further than anything I had ever written in my life.
Messages.
Shares.
Comments from people I had not spoken to since high school.
Photos of bonded pets. Stories about siblings. Stories about widowers. Stories about a grandmother who stopped eating after her husband died and only got her appetite back when the family moved her sister in.
And yes, the other kind of comments too.
The practical ones.
The ones that always come dressed as wisdom.
You should never adopt pets you can’t afford.
Animals adjust.
People project human emotions onto cats too much.
This is why shelters struggle. Feelings over facts.
Some people care more about animals than people.
That last one came up a lot.
I read comments until my eyes hurt.
Then I put my phone face down and sat in the dark for a while.
Weston was asleep on the couch.
Louie was curled at his side.
I kept thinking about how quickly tenderness makes certain people angry.
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