I am content with my unmuddled life.
There is of course the odd day when, from nowhere in particular, something, anything, really irritating trips me up so I stumble. But that is all it is: an irritation. Much like an itch can be scratched, it can be forgotton by the time I've walked around the garden to find the perfect spot of sun to sit in.
I am a creature of simple needs. I may wish for many things that, at the time, I think will improve my life, add a whole new level of contentedness to it. But can they really do that? Or am I just dreaming of a place where the grass may be a nano-shade greener. Certainly I sometimes peek through the fence at the neighbours garden (who doesn't?) and I am sure if I squint a little and turn my head to the side I might catch a glimpse of a bigger flower, a more luscious bush or a sunnier spot to sit in. They have invited me round once or twice and it is true they have nicer biscuits but that isn't everything is it.
In all honesty, all I need to be content is delicious food, a long lazy walk through some woods or by a river and a warm comforting bed to lie in. I'm not that fussy whose bed either as long as I can stretch out from nose to toes and snore undisturbed. Admittedly my bed partner may not appreciate my sleeping habits.
I know my place, at the bottom of what has become an increasingly long ladder. Once I was the favourite. Numero Uno. But along came the children one by one and slowly, almost inperceptably, I was knocked down another peg. Given the regularity of this decent I think I have been more than reasonable about the whole affair. I have been reassured that there will be no more children but after 3 what does it matter if there is another to pull my ears, steal my biscuits or sit on my back, there would be another bed to stretch out in.
There was a time before this family, that I was very muddled by life. Fed with one hand and beaten with the other. I didn't know when I would be fed or walked and despite a bed to sleep in, there wasn't enough room to stretch out. I didn't know about other families and how happy you could be. I had moments of happiness when a hand would absently brush against my back and stroke me and I would sigh in appreciation. It wouldn't last though. Not one to dwell on the past, I don't often think of those days before I came to live here. Perhaps if I did I would appreciate all the more the love and affection I get, even if it is a somewhat clumsy approach from the children.
So it is here, by this fire, with this family, that I am content to settle and rest for my remaining years.
This is my first contribution to Sleep is for the Weak's Writing Workshop. Pop over to see the other contributors. Your comments and feedback on this piece will be gratefully received. Thank you x