Every version of me I haven't met

I grew up around animals the way some people grow up around music — as a constant, half-noticed grace. Cats taught me first: how to be in a room without filling it, how to choose a person quietly, how to leave and come back without apology.

The black cat

My cat is black, which superstition says is unlucky and I say is the whole point. Black holds every color folded up inside it. He is, to me, all the possible versions of myself — the coder, the cook, the photographer, the one who hasn't happened yet — sleeping in a single warm coil while I work.

To love an animal is to practice loving something that will never explain itself to you. It's good practice for loving anyone.

Someday, dogs

One day there will be a dog, too — something large and ridiculous and devoted, the loud counterweight to the cat's quiet. A house that smells of coffee and wet fur and rain. I'm in no hurry. The good things arrive when the room is ready for them.

On companionship

Animals don't care about your résumé, your research, or your follower count. They care whether you're calm, whether you're kind, whether you came home. It's the most honest review I've ever received, and I keep trying to earn it.