Years ago, my parents gave me a fantastic stuffed dog. I immediately named him Scruffy.
I loved that dog. He moved with me to college, to an internship in DC, to Kenya (and back), and to Dallas.
All was well until I met The Boy. For some reason, The Boy didn't think that I needed Scruffy - something about grown married women shouldn't have stuffed animals.
Whatever.
Regardless, Scruffy was relegated to a box of childhood mementos. Poor Scruffy.
** Fast forward nearly 12 years to this week **
I was laying on my side, nearly asleep, when I felt a familiar shape snuggled near my belly. Scruffy?
Nope. It was Ben.
Our big, worthless kitty has decided he very much likes sleeping snuggled up close to me. I wonder if The Boy is going to pack Ben away like he did with Scruffy?
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