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I laugh. “You are precious.”
His fingers comb through my hair. “You are mine.”
My heart takes its turn skipping. “Yeah.”
Ollie’s eyes water, and he wets his lips. “Mine,” he whispers, awe in the syllable. “I love you.”
I am electric. Buzzing. Or potentially reflecting the buzz of the so many bugs I am suddenly aware exist in the world. Like. An illegal amount. All the same, I ignore them in favor of saying, “I love you, too.”
He slips strands of my hair behind my ear. “I owe you playing in snow and a dinner date.”
“I am very excited. Can I partial shift? I want to wag my tail to show you how excited I am, but I don’t want to not talk yet, because there’s a lot I want to talk about. Like can you hear that flapping?” I drag my attention off him and toward the darkness that seems far less dark than usual. “What’s that flapping?” It is, surprisingly, annoying.
How does Ollie function like this?
“The…bat? Maybe?”
“There’s a bat?” I exclaim.
“You’ll probably get used to all this more easily than you expect. It’s what you’re entire self has been craving ever since you were born.”
“Are bats canine? They’re sky puppies, right? Can I be a bat?”
“Sorry. Entirely different orders.” He takes my hand, turns, then stops.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Phone,” he murmurs, finding it in the brush and popping it in his pocket. “What were we talking about?”
I can already tell we’re going to be a disaster. I grin. “Why can’t we become anything if we can control so many aspects of how we change?”
“Why can’t a human become a mouse?”
That makes sense. We can only be whatever it is we are. No matter how hard we try to be something else, the best we can hope to do is reflect.
All the same, I say, “Smarty pants.”
“Pants.” He nods affirmatively. “Let’s talk about clothes before we find ourselves on a Svalbard mountaintop without them.”
“Ooh. Let’s.”
Chapter 31
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life as a Pomeranian>>>>>
I have tiny pawsies. I know joy. It is a summery day outside, but I am small. I am fluffy. I am seated on my couch in front of a fan, blissfully regulated and in tune with my senses.
Is this happiness? This must be happiness.
I don’t feel like I’m drowning in my own body anymore. The prison of my thoughts isn’t an undertow waiting to drag me away now. I’m still me, but I have the tools I need to find my way. The ground is sturdier beneath my feet. My heightened senses fill the gaps I’ve spent so long struggling to mend with more effort than I have to expend each day.
There is so much peace in this.
Even with the incredibly clear pound, pound, pound of Ollie’s frantic heart and the stomp, stomp, stomp of his pacing bare feet on the kitchen linoleum, I am at peace.
He, however, is circling the island counter, nearing two hundred revolutions. He switches directions every so often, and I can tell by the way his feet slide differently across the floor.
